Limit
by JinnySkeans
Summary: Sometimes your dream come true twists and contorts and maims itself till it's your worst nightmare. And can you even tell the difference, anymore? Love and loss and three strikes, you're out. AU
1. Batter Up

College is over. For me, anyway.

Whatever.

I didn't graduate. I probably won't ever, which is yet another eternally shameful notch in my belt as far as my father's concerned. But my father's dead now so it's just the ghost of his voice in my ear, telling me what a worthless sack of nothing I am that I have to contend with. That, and the memory of my mom's disappointed eyes and the small, sad shake of her head.

It's over because I'm drafted. By the Pro Baseball League here in Fire Country.

Pitcher. Rotation pitcher, none of that relief bullshit. You'll never see me in a bullpen.

It's what every little fucking boy dreams about it, ain't it? Getting drafted into the big leagues. I'm 19, so there's a lot of buzz about me. At least, that's what everyone's saying.

It's too bad I don't share their enthusiasm.

See, here's the thing about me.

Even if baseball's my greatest passion (and it is.) Even if it makes me feel alive like nothing else can (and it does.) Even if I love it more than drugs and sex and rock and roll and anything else anyone's ever loved (and I do.)

Even if all those things are true (and they are)…none of it means shit to the Uchiha Family.

Doing this…signing this contract, withdrawing from college in the middle of my sophomore year…it's never been done before, not in the Uchiha Family. No one's ever turned their back on the legacy. No one's ever turned down the chance to lead our financing company to its usual eminence.

And so as I sit here at my press conference, wearing my brand new jersey (white with red pinstripes, and a red cap with a silver K on the front for the Konoha Heat, and my number, 17, sprawled on the back with red stitching.) And there's flashbulbs and the manager, a guy named Kakashi with a facemask like he's got swine flu or SARS or some shit, he's shaking my hand to welcome me to the team. And reporters ask all kinds of questions and congratulate me and ask what I'm gonna bring to the team.

I want to look them all in the eye and tell them I'm bringing nothing but trouble, since nothing but trouble follows me and all I do is fuck shit up and ruin lives. I want to tell them all that I'm not gonna be their hero, I'm gonna be their undoing. I want to tell them all that I love baseball and I dreamt of playing for Konoha since I could lift a baseball bat and that this is a dream come true gone horribly fucking wrong because my family's dead and if they weren't, they'd hate me.

"A hell of a slider," is what comes out instead. And everyone laughs and chuckles appreciatively because I'm young and healthy and they think I've got attitude. They eat this shit up and I wish, just for one fucking second in my life, I could share in their happiness.

This should be my dream come true.

Should be.

Lights. Camera. Action.

* * *

I met a girl in high school I haven't been able to forget.

Girls throw themselves at me one right after the other. It's always been like that. I've never had a shortage of girlfriends. Well, not girlfriends. I never had a proper one of those. I hit it and quit it and I find girls who don't want anything more than that from me. That's the way I prefer it. When they leave the next day.

But this one girl. I don't know.

I haven't seen her since graduation. We were friends. As close as I'll ever get to being someone's friend anyway, since I know I'm shit at everything. But she was different, somehow. Never let me be shit enough to turn her back on me.

I never met a girl as smart and as driven as she was. I hated her for it at first, for the big brain she hid behind this candy-colored hair. She understood everthing so easily, never really had to work for her grades. And to the angry piece of shit boy I was (and still am), I couldn't stand it and I couldn't stand her.

She grew on me, though. In the end, she grew on me.

Real pretty. Smart and a sweetheart right down to her core.

Her name was Sakura. I haven't seen her since we graduated.

I'm Sasuke, by the way.

* * *

There's a kid the Heat's bringing up with me. Same age. Drafted out of some community college a thousand miles away.

His name's Naruto.

He's gonna be the catcher.

I can't fucking stand him.

* * *

I see her before she sees me, at this stupid fucking party I was gonna skip in the first place.

She looks like she walked out of some fucking fairy tale with her perfect hair and her perfect skin and her perfect smile. She's lighting up the room and it almost hurts to look at her, the way it feels when you stare right into the sun. Like your eyes are gonna burn right the hell out of your sockets, but it's gorgeous, so you don't really mind.

Gotta wonder what she's doing here, at a charity event I was gonna skip in the first place. It's mostly baseball players and their families, and the needy kids (or maybe it's cancer survivors?) and widows and orphans (or was it veterans? Who cares, someone who needs something) who are gonna be taking home the big fat check Konoha's signing over at the end of the night.

I don't know why they don't just send the check and skip the party. So we can all stop pretending that any single one of these asshole coaches and managers and assistants who're all making millions of fucking dollars a year, so we can stop pretending they give two animal shits about orphans and endangered species.

Anyway, I don't know why she's here. I try to remember where she said she was going to college after high school, but back then, I didn't want to know. I wanted her to evaporate, disappear into some future I had nothing to do with because even if I wanted her, (not saying I did or do or ever will) I never would've been good for her. I know what I am.

But I didn't keep track of her after graduation last year. There wasn't any point in finding out how happy and successful she became without me.

For something to do I grab a glass of wine. I'm too young to drink but no one knows or notices or cares, I guess. And it suits me fine because when the alcohol burns its way down my throat, bitter, because this charity event apparently couldn't afford good shit, it warms something in my stomach and makes my thoughts fuzz.

Still, though, she dances away from whatever conversation she's having and because it's fate or kismet or just fucking bullshit unfairness, she looks across the room and her eyes are on me and then her mouth opens.

To turn tail and run would show cowardice, or it might hurt her the way I knew it did when I stopped answering her texts. It hurt me to do it but she doesn't need to know that. Doesn't need to know anything beyond we-were-friends, now-we're-not.

So I hold her gaze, and even across the room, she's got these green eyes, crazy green eyes, that are light and burning and a storm. And I keep hold of those eyes with mine as she excuses herself and makes her way directly towards me.

"Sasuke!" she says, and there's such warmth in her voice, tinged with disbelief. No sadness anywhere at all. Her arms are around my neck and she smells like flowers and sunshine, and she withdraws from the hug before I can respond to it. "What are you doing here?"

It's a weird question for her to ask. Everyone knows what I've been up to. Right? Fucking 16th draft pick, everyone knows all about me. Starting pitcher at age 19. Konoha's wonder kid.

I realize the truth too late. I wasn't the only one to let go. She doesn't know what I do because she did the same thing to me I did to her: cut her out.

"I pitch for Konoha," I say quietly, and take another sip.

If she notices my underage drinking, she says nothing. Instead, her eyes brighten, like that's fucking possible, and she smiles as bright as the moon.

"Really?" she squeals. "Sasuke, that's amazing! I'm sorry, I was out of the country and I really haven't heard much of anything over the past few months. That's incredible, Sasuke, I'm so happy for you!"

Out of the country, huh? Well that would explain it then. But where have you been, Sakura? Where did you go when I left?

"How have you been?" she asks excitedly, like she's happy to see me, like I didn't hurt her the way I know I did. "Obviously pretty good if you're a professional baseball player!"

"Hn. It's all right." It should be anyway. Opening Day is a few weeks away.

"I missed you," she adds, like an afterthought. It's beautiful, the most beautiful thing I ever heard, and thanks, pretty girl, for missing me, for thinking about me the way you did, for being the only fucking person alive who ever missed me when I was gone. "You kind of…I don't know. We lost touch."

There's no accusation in what she says. Like she's accepted it as equally her fault, when I know it was all mine. That's always been your problem, hasn't it, pretty girl? You never know when some asshole's treating you like shit and you didn't fucking deserve it.

Did you know I missed you back, pretty girl?

Do you know I miss you right now when you're fucking in front of me?

"If you want it," she continues, "I changed my phone number. I had to. Um. Things…things happened. Whatever. But if you want it…" She flags down a waiter, asks him something, I can't really hear it because I can't stop looking at her, she's just so fucking beautiful. Then, she scribbles something on a piece of paper the waiter must've handed her, and she presses it into my hand.

It's her phone number.

"No pressure," she says, like she might've overstepped a boundary with me. She tucks a stray lock of hair behind her hear and it's a nervous gesture, I remember from when we were in high school. "I know you're busy. Must be, anyway, you're a big celebrity now." She smiles teasingly and I think I might love her. I don't know. "But if you ever feel like…I don't know. Feel like talking to someone who knew you before you were famous. I'm here."

I put the paper in my pocket. I finish the rest of my champagne and wish like hell it was stronger than it is. I look around for something to do, something to say to this pretty girl who never knows when to quit. Why'd you change your number, huh? Was it me? Did you hate me when I stopped answering? Do you still hate me?

"Well, I have to get back," she says, looking back over her shoulder. "They're expecting me."

"Who." It's a question but I never seem to phrase questions like questions.

"Oh. My classmates. We just got back from South America…we built a hospital. In Costa Rica. It's…what this event's for. Sponsoring medical supplies to fill up what we built. Didn't you know that?"

No. No I didn't know because I'm only at this charity event because I'm paid to be, same as everone else here. Except for you, pretty girl. Out there saving the world and shit. And I never followed you anywhere because I'm no good for you.

So why am I keeping your number, huh?

Because she's always been the good person, not me. I'm just a selfish fuck who'd drag her down with me just to keep her in my life.

"Hn," is what comes out instead.

"Okay. Well…it was great seeing you again, Sasuke. I mean it."

Then she stands up on tiptoe and there's a featherlight kiss to my cheek. A friendly kiss, a sweet kiss, but I've never been kissed like that. So innocent, so innocuous, that no one even looks up so why do I feel so fucking out of control? Like I'm gonna grab her by the front of that dress that fits her like a second skin and fucking lose it on her?

"See you around," she says with a smile, and then her back's to me, exposed in that dress, and she disappears into the crowd.

Her name's Sakura.

I have her number in my pocket and the ghost of her kiss on my cheek.

I haven't forgotten Sakura. I just wish I could.

For both our sakes.

* * *

The catcher, Naruto, is a fucking idiot.

He calls all the wrong pitches. Every single fucking time, he moves his fingers like he knows what he's doing.

You get in trouble for ignoring the catcher's calls. Coach doesn't like the way I hang Naruto out to dry like the shit he is, but isn't winning what's most important? More important than trying to make your teammate feel like he's worth something?

That's what I was raised to think, anyway.

"Relax, man!" Naruto says, laughs, after practice one day. He claps me on the back like we're best friends as we head to the locker room. I want to tear his arm off and beat him with it. "It's just a game! You take it way too serious."

Why so serious, Sasuke? I hear my mom say it.

Winning is everything, Sasuke. I hear my dad say it.

And all these fucking voices in my head, dead voices, ghost voices, voices that aren't mine and do I even HAVE a voice anymore?

No voice, no choice, nothing here but my dream come true that's gonna go up in flames, and my dream girl who's standing too close to the fire, and my dead fucking family that's only alive in my dreams. Dreams are all I've got, distorted mirror versions of them, anyway.

I'm Sasuke, by the way.

I'm 19. I'm an orphan. A college dropout. A professional athlete. A lovesick sap. A fuckup of absolutely royal proportions. A shit friend, a shit teammate.

Nice to meet you.

* * *

**note..** A baseball story was pretty much inevitable for me at some point or another. Hope you like it! Let me know :)

Happy Monday!


	2. Lead Off

I hate this fucking party.

I understand its importance, though. And why I have to be there, hobknobbing with all of the Who's Who of Konoha, smiling and charming and the face of "We just built a hospital, can you write us checks for supplies?"

But I can't help the way I feel, locked inside this dress-that's-too-expensive, with this smile on my face like I respect any of these people. People who dole out money not because it's the right thing to do, but because they want everyone else to see how much they're giving. It's a show. It's a fucking show and it's not ladylike to swear, but to be honest, I never wanted to be here in the first place.

This dress-that's-too-expensive, it's gorgeous and it's the nicest thing I've ever worn and I didn't show anybody, but I never took the tags off, I just tucked them into the collar. So this beautiful, impractical thing is going _right back_ to the store tomorrow, when this stupid party's over and I'm back in my tiny, cheap apartment on the South Side.

You'll never find any of these rich, famous opportunists on the South Side.

Dr. Tsunade, my mentor, and the woman who lead our one-year foray into the jungles of South America to help with the construction of a much-needed hospital, feels the same way I do about these things. Disgust, mixed with a sober sense of urgency. She hates these social climbers, these smirking social climbers who probably aren't even sure what it is they're donating their money _towards,_ but do so because no one wants to be known as the smirking social climber who _didn't donate._ I respect Dr. Tsunade, and so I'm here with her, and with my other classmates who just got back home, and all of us smile and regale these smirking social climbers with stories of laying bricks in the 100 degree heat, and installing carpets and socializing with the townsfolk and all sorts of things that never happened.

Smirking social climbers like stories, see.

So I take a flute of champagne (and no one questions my age, because when you're surrounded by smirking social climbers, they think you're one of them, and apparently the Konoha royalty never get carded) and I sip it like I'm elegant, like I'll be headed home to a penthouse suite on the North Side instead of my tiny apartment with the mismatched furniture thirteen miles south. And they buy into it, because in this dress-that's-too-expensive, and with my hair in curls and perfect makeup and a smile, I look just like one of them.

Amazing, ain't it? How a nice piece of fabric and a touch of mascara and a deceitful little smirk can transform you into the very thing you hate?

I see him from across the ballroom and it feels like all the air in the room is gone. Like in the space training programs we used to watch on TV, when they're training astronauts by sticking them in a chamber and sucking out all the oxygen in the room to simulate what it's like on the moon. Like that, only I didn't pull my helmet on in time.

He's staring at me, which means he must've seen me first. There's that same look in his eyes that I fell so deeply in love with, this kind of stirring, heated intensity that makes you feel like the only person on the planet.

Oh, didn't I tell you? I'm Sakura. That's Sasuke. And I've been in love with him since elementary school, only he doesn't know that.

* * *

My initial reaction is, to be completely honest, boiling, raging anger.

We were best friends in high school. I told him all sorts of secrets and I trusted him and he made sure I never walked home alone and that no guy ever got too fresh with me. And that's friendship, right?

Then, college. Then, he stopped answering my calls. Then, he stopped answering my texts. Then, I got the hint, and stopped trying.

And what did I ever do to _you,_ Sasuke? Why'd you shut me out like that?

Why'd you turn your back on me when I needed you?

Not that he knew I needed him. I never told him all the ways I needed him. Never will. But I can't stop my anger, and I can't stop it from melting into something else _entirely._

Blinding, senseless _joy._

I'm _happy_ to see him, and I know it's got to show on my face. I feel a real, genuine smile lift my lips, not this practiced little smirk that's been winning me so many admirers tonight at this stupid fucking party. I excuse myself from whatever conversation I'd been having (it doesn't matter anyway, they're gonna sign the check no matter what I say) and I approach him before he has the chance to run away, like he always does.

He's gorgeous standing in the dim lighting of this beautifully-decorated ballroom, tall and even more handsome than I remember, now that boyhood's fading from his sharp-angled face and he looks more like a man, grown and capable. His dark hair's messy, his dark eyes clear despite the alcohol in his hand (I'm not the only one risking an Underage tonight) and his tie's loose, his buttons undone, like he's too good for anyone else here.

Wildly, irrationally, I think _Yes you are too good for these people._ Even though Sasuke, born into the richest family in Konoha before its tragic downfall, is part of these people-I-hate.

And he's still looking at me with wildfire in his eyes. It stirs something in my stomach, something heated, and I ramblerambleramble the usual "Hey I haven't seen you in awhile, how've you been?" because if I pause even a little bit, I could lose him again. Or lose myself.

And he's the same as he ever was. Quiet, remote. Guarded. Even when we were friends, he was this way, his frostiness punctuated by a few moments of warmth he never showed anyone else but me. And in those moments, I learned to love him, learned to love him selfishly, and to hate the parade of girls he always had at his disposal, and to hate myself for _never being one of them._

It's an old insecurity, but seeing him here, again, after all this time, it feels fresh and raw. Like a wound I thought had healed, but really had only scabbed over on the surface, and with the right amount of pressure, it's torn open again.

"I pitch for Konoha," he says, in that quiet, deep voice that makes me melt.

I can't help but show him how happy I am for him. Back when we were friends, he talked of practically nothing else but baseball. Knew everything about Konoha' top-ranked team. If anything was ever his passion, it was this.

But there's no joy in his eyes, nothing. Nothing but resignation and that _heat_. And in that moment, I realize that boys like Sasuke will never, ever be truly happy. Even with the world at their feet, with everything they've ever dreamt of, with these smirking social climbers bowing to them and reaching-for-the-stars a milestone they passed lightyears ago, they'll never be happy.

And it breaks my heart as much as it angers me.

He's selfish, still. Self-centered and self-absorbed. It's always been his worst, worst flaw, and it doesn't look to have changed in the year it's been since we graduated.

Since he left.

Since I left, and he let me go.

I give him my phone number. Quickly, and before I change my mind. My new phone number, not the old one he knows. Or knew, and deleted. Stopped calling. To my surprise, he takes it. Slides it into his pocket, and for some bizarre reason, I'm satisfied with that. Because Sasuke is many things but he's not a liar, and if he didn't want my number, he wouldn't have taken it.

He's never worried about hurting my feelings.

I kiss him quickly on the cheek, again, before I change my mind. He's never liked anyone in his space (except the endless parade of whores he tries on for size, then discards the next morning) and I've always respected that about him, but I want to kiss him, so I do. He stiffens but doesn't shove me away, instead looks at me and that heat in his eyes reignites till it's an inferno and why are you burning, Sasuke?

Because you never burned for me.

And I make up an excuse, and I turn my back (a bit spitefully, so he can feel what it's like) and I leave.

* * *

I leave the whole fucking party.

Cinderella's turning back into a scullery maid. Or in this case, a med student who moonlights as a waitress to pay for the shitty apartment she loves. Time to turn tail from the crowds of the smirking social climbers, quit pretending to be one of them, quit pretending to like them.

I take the subway home and in my too-expensive-dress and my heels that add deceptive height and my hair in perfect curls, I look as out of place as I felt at that fucking party.

And bizarrely, I wonder how none of this is enough for Sasuke to ever really _notice me._

I'm Sakura, by the way, if I haven't told you yet. And the first thing you need to know about me is that I'm an absolute disaster of a human being.

The second thing you need to know is that I'm trying to overcome that. I'm gonna be a doctor someday, and heal people and help people and be something _more_ than an absolute disaster.

The third thing you need to know is that I'm in love, I have been, and maybe I always will be.

And the fourth thing you need to know is that I know I'm not gonna get my happy ending.

Because even if I look like her on this grody subway in the middle of the night, I'm not Cinderella, and he's not Prince Charming.

He's an asshole in a baseball uniform and I _will never let him strike me out._

* * *

I make a pit stop at my apartment to change. I peel off the expensive dress and make a note to return it tomorrow, since I managed to keep it clean and free of stains and they'll never know I wore it anyways. I change into an outfit that's much more comfortable, much more me: skinny jeans and turquoise pumps, a peach-colored shirt that hangs off one shoulder. And I shake my hair out of its elegant twist so it's wild and curly and I grab a coat, since it's cold, and I head right to the bar down the street from my apartment.

I love it here. The Rum'n'Coke is a seedy little hole in the wall, where everyone knows everyone and everyone's young and fucked up like me and nobody cards. You can smoke inside, it's one of the few places left where you can smoke inside, and the music's loud and when you're drunk enough, it vibrates through you till you can feel it in your heart and you're alive, then, really alive.

I order my favorite drink: a rum-and-coke. The bartender here, a guy named Genma who knows I'm eighteen and can't drink, hooks me up. It's mostly rum, the burgundy color of the Coke light and watery because I don't _really_ want soda in it at all. I smile at Genma and he asks me how my party went, all teasing, since here on the South Side, parties on the North Side are all hilarious.

"About as well as I thought it would go." I have to shout back to him since the music's so loud and it's busy tonight. The drink tastes exactly, exactly right: almost no smack of flavor at all besides acrid, cheap rum and it makes me feel warm like it did when Sasuke looked at me tonight. "Made a lot of money for the hospital, so that's all that matters."

I like Genma. I like the drinks. I like the music and I like the noise and I like how everyone knows me and everyone likes me and I like them back.

I feel hands on my hips and smell something tangy and masculine then, and _this_ is the real reason I come here.

"Hey there, beautiful," a voice rumbles in my ear, and I'm not drunk enough not to recognize Kiba Inuzuka before I spin around to face him. I smile up at him and reply, "Hey, Kiba. Buy me a drink?"

"Way ahead of you, baby," he says with a smirk, and he signals to Genma but keeps his hands on me and I feel alive, then, when he touches me.

I'm not in love with Kiba.

I'm not in love with Sai or Suigetsu or Shikamaru or any of the other guys I sleep with here and there.

See, I'm Sakura, and the fifth thing you need to know about me is that I'm in love with Sasuke Uchiha, and I don't want to be, so I come to places like this and to boys like Kiba and I let them buy me drinks and touch me and make me feel alive. I'm a model student, a model athlete, a model employee, a model friend.

And I'm a slut with a drink in my hand when the sun goes down.

I'm Sakura and the sixth thing you need to know about me is that I can't _stand_ who I am.

* * *

Kiba doesn't stay that night. I don't ask him to, he doesn't care. It's over quickly and it's exactly what both of us need from each other. He tosses the condom on his way out and doesn't kiss me goodbye because we're not in love, we're just friends who like to have sex. I change the sheets because they smell like sweat and Kiba and he's not the boy whose scent I want to drown in, and I shower the bar grime off of me and down the drain I flush the intangible memories of another night I know I'll regret someday, when I come to terms with what a shit person I am.

When I come out of the shower, Kiba's gone. I slip beneath the clean, fresh covers of my bed and think of what I need to do when I wake up. Take back the dress, for starters. Run down to the co-op to buy my textbooks, since spring term starts on Monday, and I've been out of the country all this time. Go shopping with the girls so we can catch up after all those months of separation. A night shift down at the South Side Diner.

The alcohol still working through my bloodstream makes me fuzzy, and my stomach aches a little bit, but that's because I've been drinking and not eating and since I'm already nauseous, I don't want to compound it by adding food to the equation. It's an analogy for my life, pretty much: I know exactly how to improve myself, exactly what will fix me, but I don't have the fortitude to actually go through with it. To see things get worse before they get better.

So whatever.

I lay my head down on the worn-out pillows and see that Kiba left his dog tags on my floor. Annoyed, I turn the other way so I can't see them, and my phone vibrates on the nightstand beside me.

_Probably Kiba,_ I think, irritated. _Probably Kiba missing his stupid dog tags. Take your shit with you when you leave._

I grab my phone and look at the text and my stomachache vanishes, my hangover vanishes, my headache vanishes.

From: Sasuke

Let's get dinner. Saturday night.

It isn't a date, I tell myself. It isn't a date because you're a slut, Sakura, and you don't go on dates with nice boys. You hook up with bad boys at seedy bars and you're a good girl during the day but that's not enough to win you a nice date with a nice boy.

And Sasuke's not nice, anyway. He's an asshole.

He's a slut, just like you.

And he cut you out of his life, you stupid girl, remember that? Remember all the nights you cried and cried and cried because you _missed him_ and he didn't even _care?_

I sigh. I pinch my nose. I reply before my head catches up to my heart.

To: Sasuke

Sure.

Conversation's over. A six-word conversation that makes me feel like the ground just gave out from under me and I'm falling as hard and fast as I'm floating.

I set the phone back down, close my eyes.

I'm Sakura. And the seventh thing you need to know about me is that I _never ever ever learn my lesson._

* * *

**note..** Hello, there, beautiful! I'm a little bit in love with writing this story. I know I have a lot to be working on (Catalyst, anyone?) but I'm flighty and fickle and I'll get to it when I get to it, I guess. In the meantime, though, I wanted to clarify: since this is told in first person perspective, alternately Sasuke and Sakura, most of the action and thought is taking place in their own heads. Just because Sasuke doesn't have much to say (does he ever?) doesn't mean he's not thinking just as loquaciously as anyone else.

Let me know what you think! Any questions about baseball terminology, hit me up, and any comments or suggestions would be appreciated. LOVE ME LIKE I LOVE YOU.

xoxo Daisy (Go Phillies!)


	3. First Base

The girl I went home with is passably attractive. She was better-looking when I was drunk.

I don't remember her name. I usually don't remember the names of the girls I go home with.

Why bother. I don't want anything more than what they offer me so shamelessly.

I get dressed again while she's sleeping. I'm not drunk anymore, so it's easy enough to find all my shit and get the hell out of there before she wakes up. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's when these nameless girls wake up and ask me to stay.

I want them nameless.

If they're nameless, it ain't real.

* * *

It's cold on the way home. Home being an apartment on the North Side that the team pays for. Once the season starts we'll be traveling a lot, but in the meantime, they cover the rent on an apartment that's way too fucking big for just me.

I'm thinking about Saturday. Thinking about Sakura. And that was always the problem with her, wasn't it. Her inability to remain nameless like the other girls I go home with, fuck, leave, and forget.

It's just dinner, it ain't a date.

I've never been on a date.

Sakura's the kind of girl you date. Innocent and sweet and untouchable, and you pull out her chair and tell her she's pretty with her hair up. You buy her flowers because she deserves them.

I don't know how to date girls like Sakura. I know how to bang girls like the redhead (brunette?) I just left, and the blonde at the hotel last week, and the chick with blue eyes from the gym. (Were they green?)

Point is, this isn't (can't be) a date because I know Sakura. At least I did. And she's not an empty shell of a human being like I am. She's not the kind of person who uses sex like I so, as both a weapon and an escape, and never for what it actually should be: an expression of love, I guess. She's not the kind of person who's broken inside and holding herself together with Scotch tape and cigarettes, like I do.

Right?

* * *

My pitching coach is a guy named Gai. I can't stand him.

But he's the best pitching coach in the game, and for all his bullshit, he's teaching me more than I ever learned doing it on my own.

I have good command over my pitches, but when I got signed and came to training camp, I didn't have a variety. I could hurl a 100-mph fastball and put it anywhere I wanted it to go, and a decent slider, but that's pretty much it.

Now, two weeks into my career as a starter in the Heat rotation, I have a curveball, a cutter, and a changeup, thanks to Coach Gai.

Everyone's impressed with me. Everyone expects more from me. Rise to the challenge, Sasuke.

This is the big leagues.

Don't forget.

* * *

The guys in the locker room are talking about their wives and their girlfriends and their boyfriends and whatever after practice Saturday afternoon. We get a rare night off and I'm trying not to think about mine, because if I think about it too much, I'm gonna bail out on Sakura the way I always do.

"How 'bout it, kid?" The question's asked to me, since no one here calls me Sasuke. They call me 'kid', because next to Naruto-the-catcher-I-hate, I'm the youngest guy on the team. (And they call Naruto 'Dipshit,' which makes it easy to tell us apart.) "What's your girl like?"

"Tch," I scoff, pulling my T-shirt on. "Don't have one."

The guy who asked me is another pitcher, one of the older ones. He's been on the team for years. I grew up watching him play.

He's an ass.

Raidou's his name.

He laughs, along with the others. Because it's common knowledge, my 'sexual exploits,' as everyone calls it.

I call it me nailing nameless women to try and inject some fucking feeling into my body here and there. But it doesn't trip naturally off the tongue, so they call it 'fuck and chuck.'

"You don't got a girl?" Naruto asks me.

Dipshit.

"No," I grind out. I don't even want to answer him. He's irritating as hell, he's in my face all the time, he acts like we're friends, but I know Coach Kakashi has everyone on the team watching out for me to be unsportsmanlike or whatever. Flat-out ignoring Dipshit's gonna get me in trouble.

"What about that pretty girl you talked to at that ballroom party?" he presses.

I think of Sakura in cream and laces, laughing and happy to see me and she kissed me on the cheek, she did it and it felt better than sex ever did, and…

"She ain't his girl, Dipshit!" laughs Kotetsu, the third baseman and a bigger ass than Raidou. "She's one of Sasuke Uchiha's six thousand groupies. He probably banged her that night and forgot her name!"

I don't know why it pisses me off, but it does.

I pack up my stuff and whatever else they're saying, I tune it out. The other guys like me all right, and I like them all right with a few exceptions, and they know enough about me to know I never keep a girl around for longer than a night, so what they're joking about isn't way off base.

But Sakura's never been nameless to me.

I never forgot her name.

I never had a reason to.

* * *

I ask her to meet me at a nice restaurant on the North Side. I don't pick her up because that might make it a date, and if I show up at her apartment, and it's just us, alone, I don't know if I'll be able to keep my hands to myself.

She says she will, and at eight o'clock, I stand outside a five-star restaurant that caters to our team practices sometimes and smoke a cigarette and wait for her.

She's on time, pretty much. Five minutes after I light the cigarette and thirty seconds before I put it out, she walks up to meet me from the sidewalk; judging by the way her cheeks are flushed with cold, she must've walked the whole way.

She's also fucking gorgeous, and when she sees me, she smiles brightly like I'm her favorite person alive and says, "Hey, Sasuke!"

I don't usually take notice of what the girls I fuck around with wear, how they do their hair, what makeup they use or what perfume. But Sakura's always been the kind of girl who _demands_ your attention. Everything about her catches your eye and makes you stop and look again.

And I've got great eyes.

She's fucking hot. Hotter than the girls I go home with. Killer body, movie star smile. Pink hair pin-straight and heels that lift her up to about my chin.

She looks like how I remember her from high school. As sweet and innocent as she was when I left her.

"Hey," I reply, forbidding myself from touching her because I don't trust myself to be able to stop. I keep my hands in my pockets where they can't touch (hurt) her, and if she's upset by the lack of contact, it doesn't show on her killerwatt smile that lights up her face like a fucking moonbeam.

"Hey," she replies, her voice breathy and raspy and it makes me think of sex. Not fucking, which is what I do with the blondes and the brunettes that I forget about the next day. But real sex, the kind where you say the girl's name over and over like a litany and she holds on and cries at the end because it was so good, and there was real connection.

I've never had that. I've had one night stands and nothing more than that. But it's on TV, ain't it, this shit where you fall in love with the rigth person and then sex is about love, not control. Not power.

She adjusts her coat (it fits her like a second skin) and looks up at the restaurant with appraising eyes.

"I've never been here before," she tells me, and conversation is as easy for her to make as it ever was, even if I don't say much to her back. I never did. "Is it any good?"

I'm surprised she's never been here before. Almost everyone I know eats here on a regular basis, but almost everyone I know is from the North Side. And it occurs to me that since we graduated, I have no idea where Sakura lives.

South America, last I checked.

"Aa," I reply, because she's talking to me and Sakura's the kind of girl you answer when she talks to you. I break my no-touching rule and put my hand on her back so we can head inside without getting separated in the crowd.

The warmth of the restaurant hits me like a hurricane and I instantly forget how cold it was outside. The taste of nicotine's still in my mouth the way I like it and I like this place because for as swanky as it is, they don't card, and I can drink as much as I want.

Sometimes it pays to be 19 and immortal.

Sakura looks around and her green eyes are all bright and happy, like she's not used to nice places like this. I get to wondering who she's spending her time with. If there's any guys in the picture. If any of them take her to nice places.

Probably not. I'm smug because I'm better than these guys-I-don't-know-exist. I take Sakura Haruno to fancy restaurants on not-dates so I'm better than they are.

The greeter takes us to a table in the back, farther away from the crowd. A two-person table. A date table. He pulls her chair out for her before I do, and when she smiles up at him bright enough to dazzle, I'm not surprised he almost trips over his own feet to bring her a drink.

I should've helped her out of her coat, maybe. But that would've made it a date, right? But Sakura takes it off herself and in the form-fitting black dress she's wearing, short and tight and hot, she's so beautiful I have to look at something else. I pretend to need a minute with the menu even though I get the same goddamn thing every time I come in here.

"What's good here?" she asks me, like I'm some culinary expert or something. Or maybe she just wants to fill the silence between us with something that isn't _Why did you stop talking to me?_ She reads the menu but has trouble, clearly, since most of it is in French.

"Anything," I reply carelessly, and I keep looking at her even though she's so pretty it burns my eyes. "Get whatever you want, I got it."

I'm rich. I'm the boy. I'm supposed to pay for her. Sakura looks up at me over her menu, her eyes catch mine and hold them still. She looks curious, like she's trying to figure something out, and I wonder if she knows how badly I want her, how badly I wish I was good enough to have her. If she does, she doesn't say anything. Looks back to her menu and tries to puzzle out the foreign words.

"I'll just get whatever you have," she says after a few minutes, laughing to herself at her inability to decipher what anything means on the menu. And it makes me want to laugh, too, because I forgot how easily Sakura could smile, how every little thing made her sparkle. She's innocent, she's sweet and she's nothing like these skanks I go home with. "I was always hopeless at French! You remember from high school?"

Of course I do, pretty girl. I remember every minute I spent with you because you _matter._

"'Course I do," I mumble. I need a drink, she's making me nostalgic. "I spent weeks trying to teach you conjugates."

Sakura laughs and the sound's like music, and people look around to see my pretty girl (no, no, Sasuke you idiot, she's not yours, she's too good for you) laugh. Men look at her too long and I feel an old anger cropping up inside me like a wildfire, picking up speed and power as it goes on. Sakura makes me jealous. Irrationally jealous, because she's here with me, she's not looking at these guys that stare at her, she's looking at me and talking to me and she's not even mine, so I have no right to be jealous, and…

And whatever.

"Clearly all that hard work paid off," she giggles, touching my arm across the table because that's what friends do, but she can't know how she sets me on fire with that. "CLEARLY! All I remember from French class is how to ask if I can sharpen my pencil."

She proceeds to pose the question in French, but she mispronounces it so badly I chuckle. Not a hearty, happy laugh like hers, but the kind of chuckle that no one's been able to produce in me since she left. Or rather, since I left her, since I'm an ass.

That's the danger with Sakura Haruno.

She makes you remember things like her name, and every moment you spent with her, and every minute you spent thinking about her. She makes you laugh when you think you've forgotten how and she makes you love yourself for being the guy who's here with her as much as you hate yourself for being a guy who's never gonna do enough in your life to deserve her.

She makes you feel like you're on top of the world and about to fall right into hell all at the same time.

She's the kind of girl you know you've always loved but it's not enough, so it doesn't matter.

The waiter comes back over with some water for us and a basket of bread since all the French do is eat bread, apparently. And he asks us if we want to try some wine, and when I say yes, he pours us both two glasses but keeps his eyes on Sakura, because she's beautiful and everyone can see it.

I get the sense though that it wouldn't have mattered to me if Sakura Haruno was beautiful. If she was my pretty girl or just a girl I knew, because with her personality, with her charm and her wit and her big fat brain and her sweetness and her big fat heart, she would've had me anyway. Under her thumb, on my knees for her if she asked it.

The fact that she's a knockout is just salt in the wound, knowing I'm here with her but she ain't mine. I tell the waiter our orders, and I keep my voice neutral, but I can't stop the glare I send him when he stares a little too long at my not-date. He gets the message and runs off and then it's just me and Sakura, the way I like it.

"South America," I say flatly, but Sakura interprets what I'm really asking: how was it. What did she do down there.

Where were you, pretty girl? When you were halfway across the world, did you miss me?

Did you hate me for what I did?

Could you ever understand why I did it?

"Oh it was amazing!" Sakura says breathlessly, and she gets this dreamy, faraway look in her eyes. "Sasuke it was absolutely incredible. 30 of us in the accelerated premed program went down for a few months to help build a new hospital in a poor, rural area. We learned all sorts of things, and they taught me how to use power tools!" A laugh again, because Sakura's having the time of her life, revisiting all these happy memories I wasn't around for. "You remember how I couldn't tell the difference between a nail and a screw, right?"

Of course I do, pretty girl.

I remember everything about you.

"Aa," I say, with a smirk, because even if this whole not-date is breaking my heart open, I can't help it. Sakura's amusing.

"Well, I'll have you know that I now know basically everything there is to know about nails and screws and all kinds of stupid shit like that."

Sakura's got a guttermouth. I can tell by the way she blushes that she's working on it, but honestly I fucking love that about her. Such a sweet, innocent girl, with such a dirty mouth. Of course it puts all kinds of erotic thoughts in my head, how good girls like Sakura can be so bad.

"Good," I say coolly. "Took you long enough."

She rises to the bait just like she always did. Her happy eyes sharpen but lose none of their sparkle, and her lip curls and I want to fucking kiss her right across the table, but I don't.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asks me with narrow eyes and a fake-pissed expression that can't conceal her amusement. "I'll have you know that even with my inability to speak French or use a wrench in high school, I still turned out pretty well."

I smirk.

"Though apparently, not as well as you! Pitching for Konoha, huh? Sasuke I'm sure everyone tells you this but that's amazing."

"Aa."

Whatever. Nothing's as amazing as my not-date.

"You seem really enthusiastic about it," she laughs. "God, you never change, huh?"

Guess not.

"No."

"What? International fame and superstardom not what it's cracked up to be?" she teases over her glass of wine, that she's draining surprisingly quickly for a girl her size. "But who am I to judge? If this is what makes you happy, then that's amazing. I'm so excited for you!"

Sorry to disappoint you, pretty girl.

But I'm not sure there's anything that can make me happy anymore.

I down the rest of my wine and flag down the asshole waiter for some more. I wish it was harder.

"Can I tell you a secret, though?" she asks me, and my heartrate picks up the way it does before a game and I feel my muscles go tense with something that feels like empty power. I'm nervous and excited all at once. I'm dreading what she's gonna say, afraid of it, and desperate for it.

Tell me you want me, pretty girl. Tell me you don't care how I'll ruin you. Tell me your secret and I'll tell you mine.

"Aa."

"I always thought you'd make a better catcher than a pitcher," she tells me, and I'm floored.

Not what I was expecting (hoping), but that's good, ain't it? Because Sakura's just a friend and why should my just a friend want me the way I want (need) her? And what the hell's this about being a catcher? I'm a fucking pitcher, pretty girl, silly pretty girl. The opposite.

"You were always really good at calling pitches, reading batters," she goes on, because Sakura knows baseball and that's as hot as anything I've ever heard. She swishes her wine around before taking another sip. "And you've got a powerful arm you could use to gun down baserunners, plus you're fast as shit and you had a good swing, if I remember."

All this, she knows from high school. All this, she remembers like it's nothing.

It makes sense, sort of. But I've trained forever as a pitcher…switching up positions now that I'm signed? Impossible.

"Impossible, right?" she laughs, seeing the look on my face as I ponder what she's proposing. "I know, I know. But that's just what I always thought. My dirty little secret."

As she says the words, she meets my eyes and there's something in there I recognize. It's alluring, it's arousing, it's seductive. She looks at me behind long dark lashes, with her perfect makeup and her perfect hair and a sinful little smile on her perfect pink lips.

Her hand on my arm is all I'm aware of, besides that smirk I want to kiss right off her lips. I feel my muscles flex, tighten, and I'm seconds from losing control and dragging her right out of the restaurant when she's saved by the waiter coming back with our food.

She looks away from me, and the spell's broken. She smiles brightly at the waiter and thanks him and tucks into her food with the normal, amiable chatter between us restored. Friendly. Friend-zoned.

Moment's passed.

This ain't a date, stupid.

Stop trying to make it one.

* * *

Against my better judgment, I take Sakura home. To her place.

I'm surprised to learn she lives clear across town. South Side. It's a poorer district. Kind of shady, even, and I do not want her to take that late bus alone. Just picturing how she'd look on the bus with all the Konoha creeps and assholes and shitheads, all by herself, makes my heart race so I go with her, even if it's way out of the way.

There's no seats left open. Konoha's jammin' at all hours, busy and alive and lively. So I hold the overhang bar but Sakura's too short to reach it comfortably, so she smiles sweetly up at me and hangs onto my other arm for balance.

She presses her perfect fucking body up against mine and expects me to be okay with it.

And because I have absolutely no common sense, I wrap my arm around her waist lazily, lightly, anything a guy friend would do for a girl. And the lights flicker off when the bus takes off from the stop towards Sakura's shitty neighborhood, and out of the corner of my eye I catch the way she's looking up at me, the streetlights dancing on her face and shining in her eyes.

I can't look away from her. From this perfect girl pressed against me so tightly I don't even notice the chilly wind from outside streaming in whenever anybody boards the bus or disembarks at each stop. She bites her bottom lip like she's trying to keep herself from saying something, and the action is all I can think about, all I'm aware of in the world.

Just friends, I try to tell myself, looking away from her as warmth pools in my stomach like a sickness, spreading to my thighs and up through my arms. Just friends, Sasuke. She's not yours. Never will be.

So why does it feel like she is?

Why has it always felt like she is?

Why have I fucked and plowed and banged and forgotten dozens of girls since I left you, pretty girl, but I never gave any of them my time or my effort or my heart?

Why did I leave my heart with you, when I left?

Where did you keep it, in that tight little dress and your little coat and where's your heart, pretty girl? Would you give it to me?

The bus ride is over. It pulls up to a stop in the worst neighborhood I've ever been to in Konoha, and Sakura hops off and I stupidly follow, even though my apartment is miles away and it's late as shit. I'll have to call a cab to take me back.

Whatever.

"You don't have to walk me if you don't want to, Sasuke," she tells me, and my name on her tongue is the sexiest thing I've ever heard. "It's only a few blocks."

But I see things that she might not. The various groups of guys gathered on each corner. The way the cars driving by slow down near her, to catch a peek. I'm not letting her walk anywhere alone.

"It's fine," I tell her with a scowl, and she threads her fingers through mine and smiles up at me sweetly like it's nice, what I'm doing. Nice, to walk a girl home. If you even knew what I want to do to you, pretty girl, all the ways I want to tear you down, bring you down to my level, would you smile like that?

We head towards her apartment in silence. But it's not uncomfortable. Silence between us is never uncomfortable, never was. She's lost in her thoughts and I'm lostin mine and her hand in my hand is warm and soft and tiny. But it's still platonic. We still haven't crossed any lines.

I want to, though. Cross lines, I mean. With her. More than anything, feels like. I want to burn the lines that separate us until there's nothing in her life but me, and nothing in my life but her. It's all I've ever wanted, feels like.

But I never get what I want. And when I DO, it's a warped, twisted, unsatisfying version. Like this whole baseball thing.

Still, she walks me to a shitty apartment complex in a shitty part of this shitty neighborhood. It's no place for a girl like Sakura. Does she live by herself? Who pays for this place? Maybe she does. Maybe that's why it's so shitty.

"Did you want to come inside?" she asks me.

It's an innocent question. It's late but it's not THAT late, and any friend could hang out at his friend's place without any expectation.

I follow her in, watch as she unlocks three sets of locks and then we're inside her apartment.

It's the nicest thing about this neighborhood, seems like. Her furniture's cheap and mismatched, and the design is simple and she doesn't have much, but it's homey, and it's Sakura. Light colors and enough of her personality shines through to let you know it's her place.

I love it.

"Not much, but it's home!" she says cheerfully. "It might be a little bit musty, I think, because I've only been back for a couple of days, so sorry if there's dust or whatever."

I say nothing, follow her into the kitchen. She tosses her keys on the counter and removes her coat.

"Have a seat," she says, gesturing to the little sofa in the living room. "I'll be right back, I just want to change into something more comfortable. This dress and these heels and _ugh._ Hang on one second."

I let my brain go dead as she floats away from the kitchen, disappears down a small hallway into a room I presume is her bedroom. I hear the zipper give way and know she's undressing and my fists tighten in my pockets. Everything she does turns me on.

When she emerges, she's wearing a looser T-shirt and a pair of yoga pants and even in _that_ she's the sexiest thing alive. She smiles at me and asks me if I want something to drink.

"I'm out of pretty much everything," she confesses sheepishly, "but I always keep some of this around."

She pulls a bottle of rum out of the fridge and if I wasn't in love with her before this, I am now.

She doesn't bother with glasses, though. Just sits down next to me, curls her legs underneath herself. Takes a long, long swig from the bottle and exhales in relief, no chaser. Presses the bottle to me.

I drink from it, too. This is the hard shit I wanted all night long, not that expensive-ass wine from the restaurant that didn't even get me buzzed. Apparently Sakura's thinking the same shit as I am, because she giggles when I return the bottle to her.

"Next time," she says, and the words light something up in me that sounds and feels and smells and tastes like hope, "I'll take you to one of MY spots. We have real liquor there. None of that fancy shit they've been pumping you with all this time."

All of what she's saying is sexy. All of it. It's fucking ridiculous. And we're here, alone, and it's late and there's alcohol and she asks me for a smoke.

I'm stunned. Sweet little Sakura Haruno, a _smoker?_ It's weird enough she cusses and drinks, now this? I'm too surprised not to hand her a cigarette and get one for myself, out of the pocket of my jacket. She produces an ash tray (she smokes enough, then) and a book of matches off the coffee table I thought were for aromatherapy candles, but clearly aren't.

I've been wrong about sweet little Sakura, seems like.

I _like_ this new shit I'm learning about her.

She fumbles with the book of matches since she's a little more buzzed than I am, so I chuckle and take it from her, strike one easily. Hold it out for her so she can light her cigarette.

She meets my eyes again, and there's that same electricity that moved between us at dinner all over again. I watch her as she inhales deeply, gets it started, closes her eyes once to savor it, and exhales out of the corner of her mouth like a pro.

And she looks at me again, a cigarette between two fingers and a bottle of rum in her free hand and I lean in closer.

"I missed you, you know," she tells me, and her eyes look darker this late at night. "I thought about you a lot. I always hoped you'd end up happy."

Happy, she says. Happy, she wants me to be. Not successful, like everyone else wants me to be. Not rich, or famous. Happy.

Such a Sakura thing to say.

"I missed you too," I tell her, because it's true. Even if it's fucked up, it's true.

I missed you so much, pretty girl.

She's breathing a little heavier now, and I've been around enough chicks to know what that means. She's fucking turned on.

It shuts my brain. The fuck. Down.

She wants me, I realize. I can tell by the look in her eyes, but the curl of her lips, by the way she's breathing and by the way her eyes are dark, dark green, almost black. And fuck is she making it difficult to keep my hands in my pockets, to keep the Friend Zone intact.

"All the time, I thought about you," she whispers hotly, her cigarette forgotten, her rum forgotten. I take the bottle from her, set it down on the table. I don't have control over much right now but I know that what I'm about to do is gonna be difficult if she's got liquor in her hands.

I don't look away from her, because I don't want her to stop saying what she's saying. I don't want anymore spells to be broken because I was stupid enough to look away. I move in closer, we're inches apart now and my heart's running so fast I'm surprised I'm still conscious. She smells amazing, like oranges and cotton, with nicotine on her breath and coconut rum, too. Everything I love.

"Sasuke," she whispers, her eyes dropping to my mouth, back to my eyes. It's needy, almost. God, Sakura stop me right now, you've gotta stop me or I won't be able to stop.

I kiss her first. I kiss her hard.

She tastes like she smells: flawless. And her lips mold perfectly to mine, and it's clear, very quickly, that Sakura knows exactly what she's doing. She kisses me back immediately, matches my pace and my eagerness. Drops her cigarette into the ashtray with mine. Crawls onto my lap.

My hands are everywhere. I grab her waist (she's got a fucking perfect body) and pin her in place, her knees apart in my lap, and I kiss her with everything I have in me and she kisses me back just as hard, just as desperately. She lets my hands slide under her shirt, across her toned stomach, over her back. Our breathing picks up, and it's only when I growl her name like a prayer and a swear under my breath that we pull back from each other.

She blinks quickly, looks up at me from my lap and her eyes go wide, like she can't believe what just happened.

"I'm…I'm sorry, Sasuke!" she squeaks, like she did something wrong. Like it wasn't the best two minutes of making out I've ever had. Like it didn't set my blood on fucking _fire_ for her and I'm burning for you, Sakura, do you feel it now in my arms? All this heat? All this fire? All for you? "I'm sorry, I had too much to drink and I'm so sorry!"

She hops off my lap like it's diseased and looks terrified that I'm gonna be angry at her.

When the only person I'm angry at is myself.

"You regret it?" I ask her dully, reaching for my forgotten cigarette and picking hers up instead. On purpose. It tastes like she did.

"N-No," she says, surprising me. Because why shouldn't she regret it? Kissing a fucking asshole who's too in love with her to actually try anything with her? "I mean…I don't. No. I wanted to kiss you for a long time. I just…want to take it slow? If that's all right with you. And…if you don't want to, that's fine, too! I understand completely."

Typical Sakura. Overthinking.

I'm so bad for her. Toxic, I know it. She knows it, too, somewhere deep inside even if she acts like we're equals. But there's something about her I can't run from. I can't forget you, pretty girl, so maybe I can keep you?

"Stay," she tells me. "You can have the couch, it's late and you're drinking. I'm just gonna go to bed, okay?"

I stay because she told me to. I stay because she kisses me good night, on the cheek, because we're friends but maybe we can be something more, with time. I stay because Sakura's in the room down the hall and I don't want to be too far away from her anymore.

I stay because I want to wake up to the smell of oranges and cigarettes and the coconut rum she left on the table.

* * *

**note..** This is my favorite of my current stories right now, so I'm having a good time writing it. I hope you guys like it, too! Let me know what you think!

xoxo Daisy


	4. Dugout

I sit on an upended milk crate behind the diner on my break. There's a cigarette in one hand and my cell phone in the other.

Sasuke's texting me. He's done with his daily workout.

From: Sasuke

Practice is over. Let's get dinner tonight.

I roll my eyes, can't stop the smile that teases at my lips, compelling them upwards. Sasuke never really asks for anything. He demands things, and what's more is he almost always gets them.

Remembering the brief but crazy hot kiss we'd shared last night makes me flush all over again, like I caught fire but the flames still aren't completely extinguished.

I don't think I've ever felt so much before just from a kiss. I've done a lot more than that with a lot of other guys besides Sasuke, but just those few seconds made me burn hotter than I've ever burned before.

Being around Sasuke is like having a fever. Chills and heat all at once.

From: Sakura

I work until eight. Come by my place around nine?

I decide I'm going to take him to one of my spots, now that I've seen one of his. I think he'll fit in with the crowd down at the Rum'n'coke better than I ever could at the fancy restaurant he took me to last night. I close my eyes, inhale on my cigarette, and imagine what Sasuke would look like in the dim light of my favorite bar, the air around him all hazy with smoke and that dark, dark look in his eyes he had last night right before he kissed me.

What am I doing? Really, Sakura Haruno, what game are you playing here?

He's gonna hurt you in the end, stupid girl.

I know that, I swear I do. Sasuke's the only boy I've ever let myself fall in love with. I guess it's kind of poetic justice that he's the only boy who could ever really hurt me.

He responds quicker than I thought he might.

From: Sasuke

Yeah.

And the conversation's over, and it didn't last long, but there's butterflies, _butterflies_ in my stomach. Like it's high school all over again.

I finish my cigarette, stamp it out and toss it in the dumpster out back before my boss grabs me by my "stupid pink hair" and drags me back to work. Shifts at the diner are long and the tips aren't always great, but you have to pay the bills with something, don't you?

That little shitty apartment I love isn't going to pay its own rent.

* * *

I walk home because I live pretty close to work. It's a nice night, too, and I think about Sasuke because I want to, because it feels like an innocent crush the way I haven't felt in so long. Nights spent wide awake changing the sheets on my bed because I don't want to fall asleep with the scent of Kiba or Shikamaru or Sai wrapped around me, nights spent pretending like I'm okay when the boys leave me and there's no one in this tiny apartment but me, nights spent pretending like any of them stack up even close to the one boy I gave my heart to years and years ago.

But one night with Sasuke changes my whole perception. It's dangerous, scary even that he has that much power over me, and I've only spent a few hours with him.

Whatever. I look up at the sky as I head home, getting darker and darker because it's the end of summer and the days aren't as long, and I think to myself that maybe this is one boy worth pursuing seriously. One boy I won't fuck and leave.

I'm going to ride this high until he leaves me like he always does.

And after that?

I don't know. Not a clue.

* * *

I'm giddy as I shower the diner grime off of me, wash my hair with my favorite shampoo and conditioner, run a razor over my legs that don't really require shaving (a lucky quirk from my mom) just because Sasuke's the kind of boy you look pretty for.

I hurry out of the shower because he's gonna be here in like a half hour, and I race through my closet to find something suitable to wear. Nothing too revealing, because Sasuke's a boy I want to take things slower with than I would with someone like Kiba, but nothing too conservative because, frankly, that's not my style. I like short shorts and skirts, and long sweaters and heels and boots and layers and most especially, I love black tights with almost everything.

Black tights can make an outfit classy, or cold weather appropriate, or sexy depending on what you wear them with. I decide I'm gonna wear a pair tonight with some ripped-up denim shorts and these little brown loafers I found at a secondhand store, and a cream-colored loose-fitting shirt that makes it look like I'm not trying too hard. (Even if I am.)

But the Rum'n'Coke isn't a place you dress up too nicely for. It's casual, and that's one of the reasons I like it so much.

I felt like I was under a microscope last night at the restaurant with Sasuke. Like if I didn't pull out all the stops with my appearance, that people would look at me weird. Like what's that trashy poor girl doing with Sasuke _Uchiha?_

And that's not me. Not at all.

There's a reason that I want to go out tonight, though. I think about it as I shake some scrunching mousse into my hair, comb it through with my fingers, shake it out and spray it to give the curls some volume.

I don't trust myself alone with Sasuke.

It's safer in groups, than it is to just invite him over to watch a movie or something. Hell, we hadn't lasted five minutes in my living room last night before I'd kissed him…and to my shock, he'd kissed me back.

Sasuke's attracted to me.

This is a phenomenon I can't really wrap my head around.

Granted, maybe I'm just another potential notch in his bedpost. Sasuke's got a reputation for meeting a girl, sleeping with her, and never calling her again.

I don't want to be that girl for Sasuke.

Even if it's irrational to expect him to change everything he is for me, I don't care. I want to be different. I want to be special to him, just a fraction of how special he is to me. And if that means we stay friends, and never go past that?

That's fine with me.

Better to be a friend of Sasuke Uchiha than a regret.

* * *

I decide I look decent, casual, as I appraise my reflection in the mirror, turn a little because I'm an insecure 18-year-old girl with body image issues like every other 18-year-old girl on the planet. If it's to Sasuke's taste or not, I don't care, because at the very least, the girl in the mirror is me.

Then there's a knock at the door, and the butterflies are back in a swarm.

I check to make sure it's him, because you can never be too careful these days. And even if I love my apartment, that doesn't mean it isn't in a pretty rough area of town. A little extra caution never hurt anybody.

Through the peephole, I make out six feet of lean, impossibly hard muscle beneath a leather jacket and jeans. My stomach flips. It's him.

I unlock the door and open it and the smile's on my face before I can even think, because my body betrays me when Sasuke's around and I can't pretend like I'm not thrilled to see him standing in my doorway.

"Hey," I say, hoping he doesn't notice how breathless I sound.

One corner of his mouth tilts up in this sexy smirk that makes my knees weak. I don't miss the way his dark eyes look me up and down before settling on my face, and I have to suppress a shudder at how impossibly good it feels just to have him _look_ at me. It's hard to remember it properly since I was drunk last night, but I mentally try to recall the feeling of his hands on me as he kissed me, and just the thought of it is better than the best sex I've ever had.

"Hey," he replies, and his voice is low and deep and soft, but it sets me on fire.

"How was practice?" I ask him, inviting him inside, but I don't join him when he sits down at the dining room table; I pretend to be busy looking for my wallet, because I know if I sit with him, it's gonna be impossible to keep my hands to myself. And I really mean it: I would much rather stay just friends with Sasuke Uchiha than succumb to this crazy sexual desire that will inevitably fizzle into something meaningless and forgettable. If that means keeping my distance, so be it.

If Sasuke notices, he doesn't say anything.

"Long," he replies. "And hot," he adds, his lip curling in distaste, and I can't help but giggle. Sasuke's funny without meaning to be. The best kind of funny.

"I bet," I chime in as I locate my wallet and shove it into the little leather purse slung over my shoulder. "You've gotta be starving by now."

"You cook?" he asks with a skeptical smirk.

I glare at him.

"Yes I do. But not tonight. You took me out last night…I'll take you out tonight."

He gives me this long, probing look like I just said something sexy. I feel hot all over, like my blood's boiling and I'm going to erupt. I need to get out of this apartment, away from Sasuke just the two of us. I need people around us to help remind me that we need to be friends first. Maybe even friends only.

I have to ignore this heat in my stomach that's spreading to my thighs. I slide into my coat and smile up at him like I'm not thinking these crazy things. "Ready?"

"Hn. Where we going."

It's not a question with Sasuke. He doesn't ask questions. It's always ambiguous statements that demand you answer them.

"My favorite bar," I reply, and I lead him out of the apartment. Lock the door behind me. Slide my arm through his because I want to touch him, and this is the only touching I can get away with right now. His arm muscle flexes under my hand and I burn a little hotter for him. "It's a few blocks away. Do you mind walking? I know you must be tired after practice today."

"Tch," he scoffs, like it's the most ridiculous thing to assume he's too tired to walk around. Such an _ego._ "Shut up and let's go."

So we leave, and it's cold outside and it cools some of this ache I have for him, but none of the longing. I wonder if this is how the other girls feel when they're with him. Like they're the only girl in the world. I wonder if he talks to them the way he does to me. Brief answers, but he always answers.

I wonder if he talks to them at all.

The spiteful, selfish part of me wants that part all to myself.

"How was practice?" I ask him, the wind bitingly cold on my bare face as we head towards the Rum'n'Coke. "You guys had to be freezing."

"Hn. Nah. It was indoors. We're getting ready to go south for spring training, though."

The thought of being separated from him again is daunting, but I'm just so grateful he's in my life right now that I tamp down that old fear of being left behind. I don't know how long he'll stay this time. I don't know if I'm just a conquest to him, or just a friend, or maybe the potential for something more. I don't know much of anything.

All I know is my arm's wound through Sasuke's and he's not shaking me away.

* * *

The Rum'n'Coke is hopping on a Sunday night, surprisingly enough.

But it's the only place around that doesn't card for minors, so needless to say, there are tons and tons of minors. And it's full of the acrid smell of cigarette smoke and there's top shelf vodka spilled all over the floor and the dance floor's packed, and I'm in love.

Even more so, because the boy I'm in love with is with me in the bar I'm in love with.

Music's blaring especially loudly tonight. With school starting this week, all the college kids are fighting to cram in one last big party and it looks like they picked the Rum'n'Coke to do it in. It's hard work to fight my way through the throng of people to the bar, Sasuke's hand wrapped loosely around mine so we're not separated.

"Well hey there, beautiful!" Genma, my favorite bartender, says from behind the bar, smiling at me with his elbows on the counter. "And who's the lucky guy this time?" he asks with a sly wink in Sasuke's direction.

I don't like that he said that.

I don't think I want Sasuke to know that I'm such a slutty mess. As far as he knows, I'm still innocent, naïve Sakura Haruno from high school. I don't know if I want him to think I'm anything but that.

I hope he didn't hear Genma over the roar of the music.

"This is my friend, Sasuke," I introduce him instead.

Genma's eyes go wide as he finally sees Sasuke under the dim, dark lights.

"Sasuke?" he exclaims. "Sasuke _Uchiha?!_ Geez, man, pleasure to meet you, you're the new starting pitcher for the Heat, ain't ya? Holy Christ, Sakura, why didn't you tell me you were seeing Sasuke _Uchiha?!_"

"We're not dating," I say, blushing. "He's a friend from school."

I hope Sasuke's not uncomfortable. I know he doesn't like being the center of attention, which is so ironic, considering no matter what he does, that's exactly what he is. People can't help but notice him. Even if they don't know who he is, he has the kind of face you look twice at. The kind of imposing presence you can't ignore.

I feel it choking me right now. His hand's still wrapped around my wrist, and it tingles through the wool fabric of my peacoat like electricity.

"Drinks are on the house!" Genma says, looking starstruck and shellshocked and all kinds of embarrassing. "You guys both! Sasuke Uchiha in my bar, THE Sasuke Uchiha! What'll it be, man?"

"Whiskey sour," Sasuke replies, his voice soft but not irritated. Maybe he's used to this star treatment everywhere he goes. Must be nice; Genma only gives me free drinks when I'm wearing something low cut. "Thanks," he adds, like an afterthought.

"And the usual rum and coke for you, gorgeous?" Genma asks me as he mixes Sasuke's drink for him in a spotty glass.

"No," I say, deciding maybe a change is in order. Rum and coke is slutty Sakura's signature drink. And I don't think I want to be slutty Sakura anymore. "Vodka cranberry, please. Mostly vodka, though. You know how I like it."

"Coming right up, doll!" he chuckles, and in five seconds I have a drink in one hand and Sasuke's palm on the small of my back, guiding me towards a table by the speakers, the most isolated spot in the place since no one wants to be near the speakers when the music is this loud.

"You come here a lot," Sasuke remarks, and I notice that he's almost done with his whiskey sour. I don't like to be outdone, so I knock back half of my drink, too, and relish the way it scorches my throat.

"It's close by, and they don't ever ask for ID," I reply with a shrug. "You like it? Probably not your scene."

"It's fine." And Sasuke doesn't lie about anything, so that must mean he likes it. Or at least likes the drinks, because his is gone in the next few moments. He glances down at the half-empty in my hands and says, "I'll get you another. Hang on."

I smile at him and he leaves and I'm by myself, watching the way he moves through the crowd. He's never jostled, never bumped into, because he's got that presence. People move out of his way for him without him needing to ask. Girls everywhere stare at him like he's God's gift to mankind and maybe he is; jealousy flares in my stomach before I remind myself that at least for this very moment, he's here with me and only me. He doesn't look twice at anybody else.

I finish off my drink and reach into my purse to find a cigarette, since tonight's a night to relax and have a good time. When I find one and pull it out, there's a guy sitting at the two-man table with me and he isn't Sasuke.

"Can I help you?" I ask him coldly, because I don't want anyone sitting in Sasuke's seat, and the Rum'n'Coke isn't a place you play coy at with creeps. "There's someone sitting there."

"I know," he replies with an oily smirk that makes my stomach turn. He's got light hair, the color isn't easy to distinguish with all the flashing lights, and his glasses are thick-lensed and need to be pushed up his nose."I'm Kabuto. What's your name, gorgeous?"

"Don't worry about it," I tell him, my eyes narrowing because I don't want to talk to him.

"I already know. You're Sakura, right? Yeah, Suigetsu told me about you."

I haven't seen Suigetsu in awhile. I haven't missed him either. This is why.

"He says you're a good time," Kabuto goes on, and my jaw drops because is he REALLY talking to me like this? "Easy to get and easy to please. Well I'm easy to please, too, Sakura baby. You want to get out of here and let me show you?"

"Get lost, you dick," I snap, jumping out of my seat. "Fuck outta here I want to please you, you're disgusting!"

"What the hell's going on."

I look up and there's Sasuke, two drinks in his hand and an expression on his face I don't think I've ever seen him wear before. Anger, because there's no mistaking what's going on here, and something that looks like jealousy, but that's way too good to be true so I stamp out that thought before I get carried away.

"This creep was just leaving," I say haughtily, and watch as Kabuto gets down off the stool and spares me a smirk that makes my skin crawl.

"Yeah, guess so," he says. "Just thought I'd try my luck at the Rum'n'Coke's easiest fuck."

Sasuke slams the drinks on the table and has Kabuto by the collar of his shirt in the span of three seconds. My jaw drops for the second time in thirty seconds.

"The hell you just say?" he demands, angrier than I've ever seen him, his muscles tense and ready for anything. Around us, a crowd gathers because nothing beats the prospect of a good late night fist fight. My heart races and I grab Sasuke's elbow in panic to stop him.

"Sasuke just let it go," I say quickly, wishing everyone gathering around us would just go the hell back to their drinks and leave us alone. "It's fine."

But there's no reasoning with him when he's like this, and Kabuto smirks at the challenge.

"Don't worry," he tells Sasuke, who's getting angrier with every word he says. "I guess I didn't realize that Sakura had made an honest woman outta herself. I'll just be going now."

With that, he tugs himself out of Sasuke's grip and I keep hold of Sasuke's arm, so he doesn't chase him down. I watch in relief and dread as Kabuto disappears into the crowd, his friends going with him, and now that the threat's been diffused, people lose interest in us and turn around.

Sasuke doesn't look at me. He's still staring after Kabuto, he's breathing hard like he's trying to calm himself down, and I can feel his accelerated pulse in the crook of his arm where I'm still holding.

Would you be this upset on my behalf if you knew why Kabuto said those things? I wonder, terrified of the answer, because for as much as I don't want Sasuke to get himself into trouble over me, part of me thrills at the idea that he came to my defense so quickly. It's like we're still in high school, and instead of coldly rebuffing a football player interrupting my cheerleading practice to ask for my number, he's doing the same thing in a seedy bar in the South Side. It feels like it used to, back then, when I was sure where I stood with this mysterious boy who's become a stranger.

But Kabuto's right to say those things about me, something Sasuke doesn't know yet. I haven't been the innocent girl Sasuke grew up with, not for a long, long time. It's not outlandish to accuse me of the things he said.

But Sasuke doesn't know that.

In his eyes, I'm still innocent, virginal Sakura from the cheerleading squad and softball team, the girl he used to study with after baseball practice and hang out with on weekends doing everything and nothing. In his eyes, I don't soak myself in vodka and bad decisions just to feel _something_ besides regret, and stress, and fear.

For some reason, I wish I still was the naïve little idiot Sasuke thinks I am.

"Are you okay?" I ask him, my voice raised over the din of the music.

If he's suspicious about what Kabuto said to me, he doesn't say anything. Instead, he grabs his whiskey off the table and drains it in one go, slamming the empty glass back down before turning to face me.

"Are you okay?" I repeat.

"Aa," he says coolly, and he looks a bit calmer, if not still pissed. His jaw is clenched tightly and to my absolute shame, all I can focus on is how amazing he looks in the dim lighting of the bar, tall and lean and handsome and I can't shake this fucking _heat_ inside me.

He's like a disease. Better yet, a hit of coke, and I'm the junkie that can't leave him alone.

"Sorry about that," I tell him, and he rolls his eyes because he hates when I apologize to him for things. "Let's just…not let it ruin tonight. Okay?"

I'm worried because I only have so much time left with Sasuke, before his season starts and then I might only ever see him around his home games. The idea makes me sick to my stomach that something like this could ruin these precious few moments with him.

His shoulders relax, and he sighs before smirking.

"Still getting yourself into trouble like that, huh," he remarks, and it's less a scold than a tease, and it makes me giggle.

"Don't even start," I tell him, lowering my voice and fluttering my eyelashes, because now that I'm reminded of this sickening time constraint, I want to flirt with him. My opportunities to are running out, and there's vodka in my blood that makes me brave and I say, "Every girl in this bar's looking at you. You're lucky I'm not the jealous type."

Sasuke's eyes darken, smolder, and his smirk widens. I think he likes it when I tease him back.

"Dance with me," I say breathlessly.

Of course I expect him to back out of it. Sasuke and I have only ever danced one time before, and that was out of obligation; in high school, he was named Prom King and I was named Prom Queen, and it's customary to share the spotlight dance after crowning. It was stiff and over quickly, and we never spoke of it again.

But bar dancing isn't the same thing as Prom dancing. I know that and so does Sasuke. So I fully expect him to scoff at me, sit down at our table, order another drink, and tune me out completely.

And he stuns me, because he tugs off his leather jacket, his shirt riding up and giving me an up-close view of his rippling ab muscles that makes me want to fall over. He rests it on the back of his chair, and to my _shock,_ he reaches for the buttons on my coat.

Nimbly, one by one, his fingers flick open each button and he keeps his eyes on my face, like he wants to see my reaction. I feel my cheeks burn and my mouth's open, and every time his fingers brush against the fabric of my shirt, a pang of desire shoots directly through my body hard enough to make my knees shake.

He slides the coat off my shoulders easily, slowly, purposefully, and I'm visited with a thousand images of Sasuke taking my clothes off the way he's doing now, all of them. I want it, I want to feel his hands on me and I want to touch him, feel his smooth skin, get as close to him as possible. I _want_ him. And he knows it. He's making me want him on purpose.

"All right," he replies, his voice deep and it promises something dark and sinful. His hand slides around to my back and he leads me onto the dance floor.

The song that's playing is slow and dirty. I can't believe he's gonna do this, I can't believe he's gonna dance with me, I didn't even know he COULD dance, but here we are, in my favorite spot and he stops when we're near one of the darker corners before putting both his hands to my waist. My back against his chest, my ass against his…God, I'm breathless.

It's the sexiest thing I've ever done. Nothing has ever remotely made me feel as alive as this does, this closeness to Sasuke, and we're both fully dressed.

I move first and he follows. His body is so hard and strong behind mine, like he's made of steel with soft, smooth skin laid on top. His hands are tight on my waist but they don't stay still very long; as we move slower, grind rougher, they slide up my sides, featherlight against my ribs, and back down my thighs. I suddenly regret wearing the black tights I like so much, because I want to feel Sasuke's bare skin against mine.

Braver than maybe I ought to be in this situation, I slide my hand behind me, through his black hair that's so much silkier, finer, than I thought it would be. I slow my pace down because I'm fucking aching for him now, and I want him to do the same thing for me.

His head turns so his nose is buried in my hair, and I nearly lose control of myself when I feel his mouth press hot, steamy kisses along my neck. I pull on his hair and try to swallow the moan that threatens in my throat. It comes out as a breathy, needy little whimper and Sasuke growls in my ear something like approval.

I'm dizzy. Completely lost in this sexy game we're playing. The lines that exist between us, the lines that keep us isolated in the friend zone where it's safe, are blurry now, fuzzy along the edges because I'm drinking and high off Sasuke Uchiha. It's easy to trip over the lines right now, and think about consequences later.

It's so dangerous, getting involved with him. He's proven time and time again, with his endless string of girlfriends (conquests) that he's not interested in me, or what I want, which is a monogamous relationship with someone I love. Someone who loves me back. I'm never gonna get that with Sasuke Uchiha because it's not what he wants from me.

But I'll take this. Whatever this is, whatever this torrent of emotion and energy is trembling between us like a monsoon, I'll take it a thousand times.

His fingers grip my thighs and pull me back, harder, against his front. There's no space between us, and except for the harsh breathing and my ill-suppressed moans of delight, there's no sound either. The music fades away, the bass echoing in my ears vanishes into nothing. All the other patrons disappear and it's only me and Sasuke in the entire world. Only us and this scary, scary connection between us and do you feel it, Sasuke? Do you feel it like I do, this energy, this heat?

Will you burn for me someday? Are you burning for me right now? Because I'm burning for you and I never want to cool down.

The flirty, barely-there kisses on my neck are hot and open-mouthed now. His teeth nip at my skin and I know there's gonna be a mark, but I don't care. I never let any of the guys I mess around with leave marks on me because I don't want to remember them in the morning, but I want to have proof, however fleeting, that this connection did exist at one point. That Sasuke wanted me enough to leave evidence.

Still behind me, he tilts my face to the side to meet his. His eyes are wild, almost red, and he looks starving; I wonder if my expression mirrors his, that crazed desire that makes me want to lose my mind. He growls something unintelligible before he kisses me for the second time in my life.

White-hot, raging desire explodes inside me. I've never wanted anything like I want him, not in my entire life. My knees buckle beneath me and I spin around to face him, so I can kiss him back properly.

I know now why he picked the corner. Once I respond to him, give him the go-ahead, he pushes me back a few feet until my back hits the wall, his body flush against mine and the fire burns hotter and hotter. It's more isolated than the rest of the bar, dark and out of the way, and he closes the distance between us by sliding his knee between my legs, grinding against me and I can't help the shrieky moan that comes out of my mouth at the motion.

I want friction. I want contact. I want heat. I want to tear off my tights and his jeans and I don't care if anyone's looking, I want him to fuck me like an animal, I want him to go hard and fast and leave his marks and let me mark him.

He's kissing me again, harder, his mouth feverish. I kiss him back just as hard, my arms tight around his neck so he can't get away, so he can't leave again. He's touching me absolutely everywhere, bolder now that his body blocks mine from everyone elses' view. His fingers run delicious trails up and down my thighs, between my legs, flirting with the button on my shorts; his palm slides up my stomach, over my breasts and I cannot believe I haven't had a stroke yet, this feels too good for my brain to handle.

"Sasuke!" I gasp, when he kisses my jaw and takes my earlobe between his teeth. "Sasuke please!"

I have no clue what I'm begging him for. None at all. To stop maybe, so I can tamp down these flames and restore some sense of normalcy between us? Or to keep going, even if we're in the middle of a crowded bar, in public, and people can see us?

No idea. No idea what I want from him, except friction.

"I can't stay away from you," he growls in my ear, his breath hot, his voice deep, his hands sure where they move along my hips. His thumb dips beneath the hemline of my shorts and I want it to be his fucking tongue, I want to get out of here and let him kiss me like this at home, where no one and nothing can stop us.

"Then don't, you idiot," I growl, because enough is enough. I grab his collar and pull him in to kiss me again.

* * *

We party and drink and make out late into the night. It's only when I remember that he's got practice in the morning and I have to meet my academic advisor that I pull myself back from this dangerous high. At last call, we leave, and I'm not drunk enough to forget the shocked, delighted look on Genma's face when he sees me go with Sasuke Uchiha's arm around my waist.

The chilly night air restores some sense to what's happening between us. Without the feeling of complete abandonment that had me so enraptured back at the bar, without the agonizing friction that made me want him so badly I couldn't even think, I remember my promise to myself.

To never let myself be just-another-girl to Sasuke Uchiha.

I'll be his friend and I'll be his girlfriend, but I'll never be his one night stand. Even if it feels like I'm choking on this vibe and I know he's got to feel it, too, I want everything from him or nothing.

I won't budge on that. I can't.

I don't want be the girl Kabuto told me I was. I don't want to give assholes like him a reason to say I'm the fast chick at a dive bar. I want to be the girl Sasuke defends because she deserves it.

Right now, I don't deserve it.

I will, though, I decide.

"Whatsamatter," Sasuke murmurs in my ear, as we head quickly for my apartment. I look up at him and I see my face reflected in his shiny black eyes; I look worried. Sad.

Maybe it's because I already know where Sasuke's gonna draw the line. A serious girlfriend has never been on his list of priorities, and to even entertain the idea that he might change his mind is only setting myself up for heartache. I think part of me knows that already.

I stop walking. So does he. His arm slides from my waist and we turn to face each other, and it's never been more important in my life that I be honest than at this moment.

"I don't want to be just another girl to you," I tell him softly.

It isn't a confession of love. It isn't a threat or an ultimatum. It's just the truth and nothing but.

Sasuke sighs. He rolls his shiny eyes and I can tell he's trying not to smirk.

"You've never been just another girl to me," he says quietly.

It isn't a confession of love. It isn't an appeasement or him telling me what I want to hear so I give him what he wants. It's just the truth and nothing but.

I trust him. I trust that we'll move this scary whatever-it-is at our own pace and it'll grow the way we let it. I trust that I'm more than the others to Sasuke Uchiha, and in return, I'll let him be more than my others.

I'll let him be my everything, if he wants it.

So I smile because this thinking makes me happy. Even if there's no guarantee that this won't end in the morning, I vow to ride this wave until it crashes against the shore. And I kiss him on the corner of his mouth, and it's a sweet kiss, it's slow and innocent and Sasuke tilts his head to meet my lips fully.

We kiss on the street, two drunk idiots at 2 in the morning, and there's the promise of more now. It ignites between us like electric and I hopehopehope it never burns out.

* * *

**note..** Phillies. That is all.

xoxo Daisy


	5. Pitching Change

When I wake up the next day, my head pounding because I had too much to drink and my mouth dry because alcohol doesn't keep your hydrated, I'm lying on a bed that isn't mine and Sakura's lying in my arms, still asleep.

Her clothes are still on. So are mine. Rumpled, because even if I didn't bang her last night, I definitely put my hands on that sick body of hers as much as she'd let me. As much as I'd let myself. But we didn't fuck.

Sakura ain't like the other girls.

I didn't rip her clothes off her and skip out in the middle of the night. I wanted to, more than anything it seems like I wanted to feel what it was like to be inside the girl of my idiot dreams, but because Sakura ain't like the other girls, I kissed her like I meant it, I cuddled with her all night long, and I'll wait till she wakes up before I leave, just so she knows how different she is.

Who the hell am I around you, pretty girl? Some lovesick guy I don't even recognize.

But my hands are tied, and I want them that way. Because I'm a different person around Sakura Haruno. I might go as far as to say I'm a _better_ person. She has that way about her. She lights everything up from inside, and brings out the best in people around her. Normally a girl who looks like that makes everyone around her look dull and dim by comparison, but Sakura almost…I don't know. Illuminates. Yeah, I guess that's it. She takes the worst in you and shines it up till you feel as bright as she does.

I turn, stretch the muscles in my numb shoulder since I didn't move apparently once I fell asleep, and feeling burns back into my arm as I look at the digital clock on her nightstand. Bright blue numbers tell my groggy eyes that it's 6:30 am, still early, especially since we got to her apartment so late, but I feel strangely well-rested. I have practice at nine so I gotta get going soon; I debate if I want to wake up Sakura before she stirs from the crook of my arm. Blinks and opens her eyes slowly. She's gorgeous first thing in the morning with her makeup from last night smeared on the pillow case, her hair messy from my hands and the smell of vodka and cigarettes on her clothes.

"Sas'ke," she slurs, seeing it's me and smiling, an unguarded smile because she isn't quite awake yet. It warms something in my stomach and I can't believe what this girl's done to me this week. Turned me inside out, is what she did. And I don't even hate her for it since it feels so fucking good right here with her. "G'morning."

"Morning," I reply quietly, and I watch her as she sits up, arches her back to work out the kinks in her muscles. Her hair tumbles back in a curly mess over one shoulder and I see a dark mark on her neck I must've made last night, and I smirk to myself almost in triumph.

She looks at me, sees what I'm smirking at, and whines, "Sasuke! I have work tonight!"

I chuckle. Who are you, pretty girl, to make me laugh like this?

"You have practice!" she exclaims. "Damn it, I'm sorry! I meant to set an alarm, but I got like distracted or whatever." My smirk widens. I know what distracted her. "Here, go grab a shower real quick. I'll make breakfast."

I raise an eyebrow. "Breakfast?"

"Yeah, idiot," she giggles, teasingly, as she hops out of bed and I wonder if she knows how I want to pull her back right away. "You know. Most important meal of the day, or whatever. Go. I'll whip something up so you're not working out on an empty stomach."

I stare at this pint-sized pink-haired predator with something like wonder. She parties with me. She makes me laugh. She drives me crazy and now she's cooking for me.

If I didn't love her before, I sure as hell do now.

* * *

Sakura's shower sucks.

The plumbing in her apartment is garbage. The water comes out in a trickle instead of a stream, and it switches from cold to hot to cold again every few minutes. It's annoying. She needs someone to fix the pipes. Next time I come over, I'll take a look at 'em. You don't live on your own for as long as I have without knowing how to fix shitty pipes.

Am I getting ahead of myself? I ask the question to my flushed reflection as I tug on the clothes I slept in, since I don't have anything else here to change into. Am I getting ahead of myself thinking that there'll be a next time? That I'll be able to do this domestic shit for Sakura like…like a boyfriend would?

Am I getting ahead of myself thinking that fucking word at all?

Am I even CAPABLE of that? Is that even what Sakura WANTS from me?

I don't know. I have no fucking idea what she wants. Why she's wasting her time with someone like me.

I know it ain't my money. I know it ain't all this fame. I know for sure, because Sakura was around before any of this shit was. Sakura was around when playing for the Heat was a pipe dream, not my stark, unbelievable reality. This ain't because I'm famous. This ain't because I'm an athlete. This ain't because I'm loaded, because Sakura never cared about any of that.

It's finding out what she DOES care about, and figuring out if I'm capable of giving it to her, that's giving me such shit lately.

"Sasuke!" she calls, her voice a little raspy since she had a lot to drink last night, too, but it's still pretty-sounding. "Breakfast is ready, hurry up! You'll be late!"

Damn if she doesn't sound like a wife. Hurrying me along to my job with breakfast. And something inside of me fucking loves it, the way this whole thing feels. Even if I haven't sealed with the day with Sakura (yet), I sure as shit feel like the only man in her life when she talks like that.

I freeze, then. Parts of last night are starting to come back.

That guy who came onto Sakura. The things he said, the things she didn't refute.

The bartender, who gave us drinks for free but made it sound like I'm not the only guy Sakura's ever brought in there.

The way she kissed me, the way she touched me, like she knew exactly what she was doing…

There's more pieces here to this puzzle of Sakura Haruno than I was expecting.

I rinse my mouth out with the cinnamon mouthwash she keeps in her medicine cabinet and think on this new material. I reach an uncomfortable conclusion, one I had never anticipated because I still see Sakura Haruno as the sweet, innocent girl she used to be in high school.

But it's her second year of college now. She's eighteen and in many ways, she's still a stranger.

Part of me has to wonder who she really is. Where she learned to move her hips like that, where she learned how to find the pulse point on a guy's neck with her teeth. Who taught her how to drink like a man and cuss like a sailor. Where'd you learn this shit, pretty girl?

Why didn't you wait for me to teach you?

"Sasuke!" she calls again, and I can tell she's getting impatient.

There's time to think on this shit later. Time to debate with myself how unfair I'm being with a girl who never promised me anything, who I never promised anything to in the first place. But for now, there's breakfast on the couch with a girl who drives me nuts and if I'm late to practice, they won't let me start in spring training.

* * *

Pitchers don't take a lot of batting practice.

That sucks for me. I like batting. I love hitting. I got a good swing.

But too much hurts a pitcher's arm. Without my left arm, I'm useless to the rotation and even more useless to the team. I get why they limit how many at-bats I get during practice.

But there's nothing like the crack of a bat as you smash a ball into the stands.

I miss it a lot. Part of me thinks back to what Sakura said, about how I'd make a better catcher than pitcher. Being a catcher, I'd see a lot more offensive play time; usually when a pitcher goes up to the plate, the coach'll have him sac bunt for the bottom of the order, get him out of the way so the top of the order can take care of getting on base.

I scoff and shake my head as I throw a hard fastball to Coach Gai. What does that silly little doctor girl know about which position I should play?

She played softball in high school. Maybe she will in college. She was always really good. First base. I used to love watching her stance, bent over, glove out, hair back, eyes forward. Her ass looked great in sliding pants, her legs killer with cleats.

Maybe she knows her shit. But I didn't get signed to squat behind home plate and call pitches.

"Good, Sasuke!" Gai says encouragingly. He's too fucking happy for this early in the morning. All the other guys on the team muse that he's getting it on the regular from somewhere; why the hell else would he be this chipper this early? "What'd it read on the clock, Lee?"

Lee's the assistant pitching coach. Gai's relative, since they're fucking identical, only Lee's twice as annoying.

"98 mph!" Lee reports loudly. I grit my teeth. Not fast enough.

"Excellent!" Gai thunders. He throws the ball back to me, and I hide the wince of pain that threatens on my face when the ball smashes into my glove. He ain't the best pitching coach in the business for nothing. "Changeup, Sasuke."

I change my fingerings on the ball, twist it in my hand a number of times. My palm's so calloused from so many times of doing the same thing that I don't blister anymore, which is good. Having a blister on your pitching hand hurts like hell, since all you can do is pop it and wait for it to heal so you can put yourself right back to work again.

I hurl a changeup, a new pitch for me. I aim for Gai's glove and it slams inside, not as hard as my fastball, but the direction changes, so it'll be hard for batters to trace its movement. It's a good pitch.

"Fantastic pitch, Sasuke! Your most youthful yet, I might say! Lee, call Uzumaki over from BP. Have him take pitches with Sasuke. You and I must examine Raidou's stance; he had trouble with command the last few practices. Most unyouthful."

"Yes, Coach Gai!" exclaims Lee, and even if I'm glad to be rid of them, the fact that I have to pitch to Naruto, the fucking _moron,_ isn't much of an improvement. I cuss under my breath as Naruto runs over, energetic and eager as ever, decked out in his catcher's pads and looking more than ready.

I want to break his hand.

"Hey, Sasuke!" Naruto almost shouts. "How ya doin, man?"

"Fine," I bite out, aware of Kakashi's eyes on me to measure my reaction. I wrap three fingers around the ball, rotate it, before I chuck it at Naruto. He catches it easily and grins.

"Nice!" he says, and he throws it back, and I'm surprised.

Not because he's being overly nice to me; he's like that with everyone. Loud and obnoxious and annoyingly encouraging. No, I'm surprised because Naruto took the ball in his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world and threw a changeup right back at me.

See, changeups are hard pitches to make. Usually, when a catcher returns the ball to the pitcher, it's a basic over-arm throw. No fancy shit, no frills; the closest pitch to a fastball. Changeups are hard to master, hard to execute, hard to control. Naruto does it like it's nothing.

I frown, and toss it back. "Do it again."

He frowns in confusion. It looks remarkably stupid on him. "Do what?"

"That pitch."

"What pitch? I tossed it back to you."

"Idiot. That was a pitch. Do it again."

I can't believe what I see. Naruto winds up and tosses it and does the same thing again. I picture what a batter might be looking at if Naruto pitches like this, and I know it'd be hard as shit to follow the ball, let alone hit it with the bat.

It's a pitch that's easily as good as mine. I toss it back and demand, "Where'd you learn that?"

"I want to know this, too," says Coach Kakashi coolly, joining us in the bullpen. Normally he leaves pitching practice to Coach Gai. It's kind of rare to see him over here.

"Uh…I don't know, just watching Sasuke with Coach Gai, I guess," Naruto says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, but still pretty fucking pleased with himself.

Kakashi stares at Naruto a long time. Then he glances at me. I wonder if my envy shines on my face. I tamp it down and Kakashi says something shocking.

"Sasuke. Put on Naruto's catcher's pads. Call pitches with him. Let's see what else he can do."

It's fucking surreal. I squat down on the ground and make the finger motions between my legs to tell Naruto I want a high fastball.

And to my fucking shock, he gives me one. It clocks in at 94 mph, which is huge for someone who doesn't pitch as often as I do. It's exactly where I called it, too.

I throw it back. Make the motion for a curveball on the outside corner. Naruto's stance is sloppy, but that could be because he ain't a trained-up pitcher. Or it could be because everything he does is sloppy and shouldn't work, but does. Either way, he puts it exactly where I called it.

Kakashi's smirking under his face mask, I can tell that from across the field. He's standing in the dugout with his arms folded, before he summons up one of the players, the starting third baseman and best hitter on the team, a guy named Neji.

"Oi, Hyuuga. You're up."

Neji looks wrongfooted, but obeys Kakashi's command. He steps up to the plate. Taps the bat against the side of the plate twice, ritualistically, because batters have a routine and if you veer from it, you're asking for bad luck. He's a righthanded hitter, I see, immediately calculating how best to get him out.

Maybe there was something to what Sakura was saying. I'm analytical behind the plate. I look at things I think Naruto misses when he's catching; the way the batter's standing. The way he holds his bat. Neji's got a weird position: his hands don't touch as he swings the bat slowly in anticipation.

He's aiming for right field. The way he's holding the bat shows he's gonna make it a long ball. He prefers them low and inside.

I smirk to myself and make the motions to Naruto behind Neji's back. I call for a changeup on the outside corner.

It isn't as surprising as it should be, when Naruto takes off from his crazy sloppy stance and puts the ball where I want it; Neji swings with full strength and misses. The ball hits harmlessly in my glove and one of the other guys calls STRIKE ONE, in the absence of an umpire.

Neji's pissed, I can tell. He adjusts his grip on the bat, lowers his position a little bit. Still looking for that fastball. I'm not gonna give it to him the way he wants; I'll get him to chase it. I call for a slider; if he doesn't swing, it'll be a ball, outside the strike zone.

But he takes the bait. Swings right away for strike two.

And when I finally call the fastball I know he wants, he doesn't trust it. Lets it sail by him right into my glove and we get him looking for strike three.

I stand up straight, look at Naruto, who's got this stunned dumb expression on his stupid face. I can't help but smirk.

Sakura's right about everything, seems like.

Coach Kakashi jogs onto the field. Calls everyone in. We all run to meet him, and he looks right at Naruto and says, "I want Sasuke taking BP from now on. Naruto, you're gonna work with Coach Gai. I'm taking both of you off the roster for right now."

"What?!" Naruto shouts, and I'm stunned. I wasn't expecting this. What the hell does he mean, off the roster?!

But he's grinning. I can tell by the way his eye crinkles up in the corners. Proud of himself for something. Makes me uneasy.

"We're gonna need time," Kakashi says slowly, "to let you guys adjust to your new positions."

* * *

I'm surprised I'm not pissed.

I've been a pitcher since Little League. I always saw myself as a pitcher.

This is craziness. Naruto and I are both playing professional ball now. Weeks before Spring Training starts sure as shit ain't the time to be switching up our positions. We get paid millions of dollars now to play good ball. How the hell can Kakashi know, from just that one batter we took out, that this is gonna pay off for him? That it wasn't just a fluke?

But the Heat have a winning record thanks in part to Kakashi's coaching. Even if he rubs me the wrong way with his all-knowing looks and his self-satisfied smirks, he knows what he's doing. And clearly he sees something in me that makes him think I'm better off behind the plate. Something in Naruto that makes him think he's better off in front of it.

I'm not pissed.

Just stunned.

Naruto corners me in the locker room after practice is over. My goal is to head back to my apartment, get a proper shower since the one I got at Sakura's was so sub-par, grab something to eat and sleep for awhile before I get my night workout in. But Naruto stops me on the way out.

"Hey, man," he says, grinning. "That's fuckin crazy, huh? What Kakashi's doing?"

"Aa," I reply. He's annoying, but I must be getting used to it, since I'm not as pissed as I normally would be.

"I gotta tell ya, man," Naruto continues. "I don't know how you do it."

"Hn?"

"You read every batter that comes up like a book," he tells me, sounding kind of awestruck. And I'm shocked. Because he's the one who should feel like he's getting a promotion; pitchers are pretty much gods where baseball's concerned. "I can't do that. I can put the ball where I want it but I never know where I want it. You size up each guy and outsmart them all in the same move."

"Hn. Thanks." I guess I should say something nice back. "You've got power. Use it."

It's the best advice I can give. That he channel that crazy energy into his pitching. His stance is all over the place, but in a fucked up way, it could work in his favor. Batters can't read a pitcher who moves around the way he does. As long as he doesn't balk, anyway. If he ever balks, I'm gonna hit him right in the skull with a fastball.

He grins. "Let's grab somethin to eat. You gotta tell me where you learned to call pitch like that."

A week ago, I'd've blown him off. Ignored him, maybe. Or laughed at him and knocked him out of the way. But it feels like we're on even ground right now. Starting over.

Must be fucking Sakura's influence. She's making me soft.

"Aa," I reply.

Feels like this annoying asshole is gonna be my best friend. Who am I to fight it.

* * *

"So that girl at the party," Naruto says, over a round of beer and ramen at a shitty stand near the ballpark. I prickle at the mention of Sakura, because she's already significant to me, and now other people are pointing it out. "Who's she? She ain't just a groupie, that's for sure."

"Hn. An old friend."

"Figured. All them other girls, none of 'em stuck around. But she looks like a keeper."

"Tch. How would you know."

"You can just look at her and tell," Naruto says simply, slurping up an obscene amount of ramen. He speaks with the self-assurance of someone who's telling the truth and telling it right. "She's different. Real cute, too. I'd go for it, if I were you."

Naruto knows me, then, I guess. Better than I gave him credit for. Or whatever.

Because with or without his approval, I AM gonna go for it.

Regardless of what Sakura's hiding behind those pretty green eyes of hers.

* * *

**note..** I realize this chapter is less romantic and more baseball-centric. There's a reason for that. This is a baseball story.

Things you might not know: positions in baseball are: pitcher (throws the ball to the batter), catcher who catches for him, first, second, and third base, shortstop, left, right, and center field. Sasuke and Naruto are gonna be switching positions, which is typically unheard of in baseball. But I got my reasons, yafeelme? Any terminology that gets confusing, hit me up.

Oh, and the Phillies won again tonight. This is because they want me to be happy. That's why I can't stop writing this story. Blame them.

Let me know what you think :) Have a good weekend!

xo Daisy


	6. Batting Practice

Today's the first day of classes.

I'm excited. I can't help it. The first day of school is like a fresh start, a clean slate, a blank page. A do-over, kind of.

There's a lot of things about me I want to do over lately.

I finished my last semester when I was overseas, but it isn't the same. Call me what you want. I know I'm a nerd. But there's something exhilarating about sitting in a lecture hall, poring over massive textbooks even if I have access to the Internet, examining specimens in a lab. I love school.

My apartment is a short distance away from my college. It's only a brief bike ride, but it's winter now and way too cold to even consider dragging my chipped, beat-up, baby blue Schwinn out of storage, which means I'll have to leave a little earlier than usual to get a head start.

I make sure I eat my favorite breakfast (vanilla yogurt with strawberries) and that I'm wearing my favorite skinny jeans (the kind that make my ass look awesome) and that my hair's perfectly straightened. I wear my favorite peacoat and my favorite boots, and my bag is packed with fresh, unused notebooks and pens I haven't even taken the little gluey smudge off the tip yet.

Oh, and I make sure my phone's on. Fully charged, too.

Because I woke up this morning to a text from Sasuke, saying only, "I'll be over tonight," and that gives me more than enough energy to get me through the rest of the day.

* * *

My Psychology class is interesting, but not nearly as interesting as replaying the events in my head from Sunday night.

Namely, the way Sasuke came back to my apartment with me after that bittersweet romp at the bar, and we made out almost all night long.

It felt different. Different, I mean, than it feels when I bring home random guys and they kiss me like Sasuke did.

There was no accompanying shame, for one. No ice cold regret simmering beneath the surface. No self-loathing for this mess I've allowed myself to become, all for the sake of feeling _something_ that's not inadequacy. Stress. Pressure.

And all the million other reasons I let myself run wild when the sun goes down. Reasons I don't want to think about yet.

But yeah. There was none of that, nothing of that where Sasuke was concerned. There was only this feeling of being completely weightless. Like I was flying and floating, and I only had his strong, calloused hands to anchor me to any semblance of reality. Like I shatter this illusion if I moved too fast, only to wake up and realize that this isn't an illusion at all.

It's like standing on rocky, uneven ground. You can't really find your footing, you know? But you're not sure you want to, because if you make the wrong move, you'll fall through the cracks and everything will go right to shit.

And I want more than that with Sasuke.

I take notes mechanically, reading the material off the overhead projector while the professor rambles on, but my thoughts are elsewhere. I'm elsewhere.

It's scary. You know? You ever been in love before? I have. I am. I always will be, I think.

Part of it is why I went so crazy, for so long, with so many different guys. Because when you're in love with someone, and you're sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that it's one-sided, that he doesn't feel the same way and you're in this shithole all alone, you'll do just about anything to _not_ be in love anymore. When there's no hope for anything, all there's left to do is move on, right? Right.

And the only thing scarier than knowing he's not into you the same way, is suspecting that he might be. Because when you introduce hope into the equation, then everything's screwed up. Then you don't have the inclination to move on, because there's still a chance. But it also means you're setting yourself up for heartbreak. Because if you're not sure, and you trust that he likes you back, and then it turns out he doesn't…

Well, now you really fucked it up.

And that's kind of where I am with Sasuke.

See, he kisses me like he means it. And he told me I'm not just another girl to him. That I never was, and that's all I wanted from him, right? To know that I was special.

But how special is special? It's not just that he's famous. A professional athlete. It's not just that he's gorgeous, and everyone thinks so.

It's that he's _Sasuke._

He's been the standard to which I hold every guy I've ever been with. Impossibly high, impossible to match, impossible to even _approach._ He's everything I value in a man. Driven, dedicated, protective. Kind, on a deep level. Inherently good, for as much as he tries to convince everyone otherwise.

He's good.

He's not perfect. At all. He doesn't try to be, and I don't want him to be. There's so much anger inside him, anger and uncertainty and doubt and frustration.

But I love him. I've loved him for years. For who he is inside, all the good parts and the bad.

But does Sasuke know about _my_ bad parts? The bar-hopping, the bed-hopping? The wild temper and the insecurity that sometimes make me sick in my own body? All these things that go through my head that make me such a mess?

Or does he just see the good shit?

What happens when that's over?

All these questions. And thank fucking God I'm good at multitasking. Because I can take these notes about neurotransmitters at the same time I'm trying to plan out the rest of my wrecked-up life.

Classes go well today. It's nice reconnecting with all my friends, sitting in the Union with the people I've missed all the months I've been away. Ino's switched her major to forensics, which is cool. Tenten, a year ahead of us, made the varsity lacrosse team, and I've got tryouts for the softball team (I can't help but want to play again. Sasuke's rubbing off on me) coming up in the next couple of weeks. Karin's started seeing someone-or-other and can't shut up about him.

It's nice. For as much fun as I had out in South America saving the world one brick at a time, for as much fun as I have kissing Sasuke or knocking back shots or dancing till my legs go numb, there's nothing like time spent with your girlfriends. It's like coming home.

And I haven't been in my apartment very long, and I've only been in college for a year, but it feels more like home than home ever felt.

Thinking about where I grew up? No way. Not going there.

I'm not the kind of girl to dwell on the past, see. That's something you should know about me. I'm all about moving on. Moving forward. Never looking back.

At least, I really hope to be that kind of girl. Someday.

* * *

I wonder how Sasuke will react when he finds out I'm gonna go out for softball this season.

I broke my ankle last winter, so I couldn't play. It sucked, being benched for each and every game. I like to move. I like to run. I love competing. I can't stand staying still. I won't.

It's something to think about as I walk home from school. Four classes a day is exhausting, and I want to get a workout in before Sasuke comes over. And he's annoying in that he never really tells me when he'll be there.

He's about to find that I'm not the kind of girl to wait for a guy. No way.

But a workout is important, especially lately. I need to strengthen my muscles before the season starts, and it starts in a month. I have weak ankles and a trick knee, see. So a lot of leg presses are gonna be necessary, plus I should go harder in my cardio.

My phone vibrates and a thrill of excitement courses through me when I glance at the screen and see it's Sasuke. He's calling, which is rare. Sasuke hates talking on the phone almost as much as he hates talking period.

"Hello?" I say into the phone, hoping I don't sound as out of breath as I am, since it's bitterly, bitterly cold and the wind's in my face making my eyes water.

"Hey," he replies. His voice is deep and low and thrilling. It makes this crazy heat explode in my abdomen and he isn't even _here._ It's _ridiculous_ the kind of things that happen to me because of Sasuke. No one else makes me feel like this: powerful and helpless all at once. "Where are you."

Again. It ain't even a question.

"Coming home from school," I say, stopping at a crosswalk to wait for the cars to go by. The wind's whipping my hair back and forth and in my eyes, and I'm sure people are looking at me weird because I have to talk so loudly over the noise. "It was great! I caught up with all my old friends, and my classes are awesome. I'm on my way to the gym now. What are you doing?"

"Hn. Done at practice."

"How was it?" I ask, as the light turns green and all of us pedestrians cross the street in a big group. I plug up my free ear with my finger (freezing cold, because my dumb ass forgot to put on gloves this morning) so I can hear him better. Sasuke's the kind of person with the kind of voice you kind of want to listen to. Forever.

"Hn. They switched me. I'm catching now."

"You're _what?"_ I exclaim, shocked but smug all at once. I always thought Sasuke would make a great catcher. He'd play any position like the pro that he is, really, but he's got all the qualities that every good catcher would kill for. He's analytical. He's fast as shit. He's got power in his swing and in his throwing arm. Beyond being a good athlete, he's a _smart_ one.

But still. To be signed on as a pitcher, with a contract and everything, only to switch positions a few weeks before Spring Training? It's unheard of.

"Are you okay with that?" I ask him, because I know pitchers have pride. More pride than they need sometimes.

"Yeah. It's good."

Let it never be said he's a great conversationalist.

"Skip the gym," he tells me.

I giggle. "Sorry, Sasuke. But I'm going out for softball in a few weeks. I'm too scrawny right now to be much of a contender at the moment."

"Softball?" Sasuke repeats, and I can tell that his interest is caught, because he almost never pushes a topic. I swear to you, I _hear_ the smirk in his voice as he says, "Go home. Get changed. I'll give you a workout."

God, my resolve not to bang him is weakening every fucking _minute._

* * *

He's waiting outside my apartment when I make it back a few minutes later.

The smile stretches across my face and I have no control over it. Just seeing him makes me happy, standing there with his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and the wind blowing his messy black hair around his face. Silver-black eyes lift to meet mine as I wave to him, and a gradual smirk twists his lips and a slow burn ignites in my stomach.

"Hey!" I say brightly, fumbling with my keys, since my fingers are almost numb with cold. "I didn't think you'd be here this quick! How was your-"

But he ignores me, cuts me off, grabs me up around the waist and kisses me long and hard like he's been thinking about it all day.

Well, at least I'm not the only one.

I smile against his lips as he pulls back, look up at him with what I'm sure is this lovesick, adoring shine in my eyes like I'm lovestoned (and I am) and finish, "…day?"

"Better now," he tells me, with the elevator eyes and everything. "Get inside."

Electrifying. That's the only word for it. Like my nerve endings are on fire. I tear my gaze away from him long enough to unlock the door to the building. We move down the hall and I have to unlock my apartment door, only Sasuke thinks I'm taking too long; his hands are hot on my waist even through my coat, and from behind me, he starts kissing his way down my neck.

"You're making it hard to concentrate!" I hiss at him, half-pissed, all the way turned on. "Damn it, Sasuke!"

He chuckles, this dark, almost scary sound because the bastard's pleased with himself, before I finally negotiate my shitty door lock open and we hurry inside. I shut the door about three seconds before I'm slammed up against it, Sasuke lifting my whole body easily off the floor so my legs can wrap around his waist. I'm taller than he is in this position, and when I look down into his eyes, they're full of this manic, crazy fire that sets my blood ablaze.

"Sakura," he growls out, almost like he's cussing, and I swear to you I'm in love.

I told myself I wasn't gonna bang him. At least not right away. If we were together, exclusive, boyfriend and girlfriend, it would be different. But that's not the case right now. And for once, I'm gonna do the smart thing and stick to my guns.

But that doesn't mean I can't tease him.

"Sasuke," I reply, lowering my voice as I watch him lower his eyelids, his eyes darkening like crazy. I place my freezing cold hands on either side of his head, threading through his messy hair, and grind my hips roughly against his stomach. He releases a ragged groan and it drives me crazy. "Thought you'd be wiped out from practice this morning."

He growls like an animal. I want him to fuck me like one.

"Now put me down," I tell him coolly, my words at odds with my desire. There's a towering, trembling inferno inside me, it threatens to consume me and everything I am if I don't feel his mouth on me, but the need for friendship first, sex later pervades everything, even this crazy need I have for him. "I need to change my clothes, or did you forget that I'm going to the gym?"

Sasuke lowers me down a little, but doesn't let me go. His mouth draws close to my ear, hot breath fanning across my skin. It's fucking weird, I know I was cold a few seconds ago. But now it feels like…I mean, was I ever cold before? Ever? Doesn't seem like it with my blood boiling like this.

"Why bother?" he murmurs, his chest rumbling against mine, and when I feel his tongue against the shell of my ear I'm so turned on I can barely stand up. "I can work you out right here."

Sasuke doesn't say more than a hundred words a year. How the hell was I supposed to know how hot a dirty talker he was?!

"If you're…afraid…I might show you up," I trail off suggestively, my hands on his abdomen, "then we can hang around here. But…"

It works. Part of me resents it, resents the fact that I'm drawing a line in the sand on this beach of fucking sex heat, while part of me celebrates my small victory. _Earn his respect first,_ I think to myself fiercely, meeting his suspicious, aggravated gaze with sincerity. _Show him you're a girl who'll make him work for it. Show him you're a girl who deserves the extra time!_

"You wish," he scoffs, releasing me at last. "Get changed. I'm not gonna go easy on you."

Do you know I like it rough, Sasuke? Do you know when you say shit like that to me, it makes me melt? Do you know the things I want to do to you? The things I want you to do to me?

I'm almost intimidated by this insane connection between us. So to restore some semblance of normalcy, I roll my eyes at his arrogant attitude and dance off to my bedroom to change my clothes.

I try my hardest not to imagine it's him peeling off layer upon layer of my outfit, but it doesn't work. Fuck all.

* * *

Sasuke takes me to the Heat's stadium, of all places.

I've only ever been here a handful of times. I'm a diehard Heat fan, but times are tight for a waitress putting herself through school, you know? I go to the games I can afford to go to, and the others, I tailgate out in the parking lot with all the other poor kids.

Sometimes I go home with one of them, but like hell is Sasuke gonna hear about that.

He lets me in the team entrance. The security guards recognize him and let him in immediately; they look at me somewhat curiously, and it occurs to me that Sasuke must never bring girls here, or else it wouldn't look so odd to see me with him. Butterflies explode in my stomach, and the familiar mantra I want so badly to believe, that of _I'm special I'm special I'm special_ races through my head back and forth like madness.

Sasuke guides me by the elbow past the locker room, even if part of me is dying to see what it looks like on the inside (mostly, I want to see his name and jersey number on his locker and tell him how fucking proud of him I am), and straight to a weight room at the end of a long, narrow players-only corridor.

There's no one in here. Makes sense, practice ended and most of the players must have gone home. Not Sasuke, who lives and breathes baseball. He strips off his leather jacket but he doesn't move to change out of his jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt. His Chuck Taylors aren't workout shoes either.

Looks like this is _my_ workout.

It's as exciting as it is intimidating. Sasuke Uchiha, the boy I've been crazy about since as far back as I can remember, as well as a professional _athlete_, is going to monitor this session of mine. Be my personal trainer, as it were. He's gonna have his eyes on me, watching me pump and run and strain and sweat…

"Too afraid to work out with me?" I tease him, to quell the arousal that's stealing through me like a petty thief. "Too afraid I'll show you up? Is this what they're paying you millions and millions for?"

Sasuke doesn't take the bait. He smirks again, an evil one, and commands, "Take off your coat. Warm up."

I feel my face flush, and his smirk widens. He's playing with me. Trying to work me up as he works me out.

Well, you know what, Sasuke?

Two can play at that game.

So I do as he asks. I take my coat off, but I make sure I do it slowly, deliberately. And I school my features into a look that's innocent, naïve, trusting, and keep my eyes on his so I can watch his reaction. Aside from his smirk tightening a bit at the corners, he gives absolutely no sign that he's interested in the free show.

Hard to get, huh?

"Just give me a second," I tell him with a sweet, sunny smile, peeling off my layers so I'm left in a tank top and workout shorts. I move over to the yoga mats resting by the doorway to the gym. He follows me, arms folded like some serious personal trainer, but there's something sexy burning in his eyes that makes me want to wrestle him to the floor. Pin him down, straddle him and teach him a thing or two about fucking me around…

_Focus, idiot,_ I tell myself angrily.

I force away any thoughts I might have of attacking my more-than-a-friend in favor of thoroughly, ruthlessly ruffling his feathers. Smiling to myself, I bend over backwards completely, my palms resting on the mat, my body a bridge.

Upside down, I watch him swallow hard.

Ladies, guys have us beat, genetically, when it comes to strength, and oftentimes speed as well. But we nail it and we nail them with our flexibility, and don't you ever forget it. Because you can take the strongest, fastest guy in the _world_, and pin him up against the most flexible woman. See how fast he fucks her.

"How's this, Coach?" I ask him teasingly.

Sasuke's nostrils flare and he reaches behind him. His strong hand flicks the lock, sealing us inside. The possessive gesture makes my stomach muscles tighten in a way that has nothing to do with my ridiculous pose, as Sasuke approaches me again, this time with calculation written all over the handsome planes of his face.

"Stretch your legs out," he tells me.

I almost giggle. He's trying to get off on this, isn't he? Sees that I'm serious about taking the sex thing slow…so he's getting what he can from me without crossing the line.

I see absolutely nothing wrong with that.

"Sure thing!" I say cheerfully. I turn a backflip to land straight, and I make sure my long pink ponytail smacks him in the face as I do so. He lets out a barely audible growl but says nothing as I drop to the mat Indian-style. Keeping my eyes on his face, I wrap one hand around the arch of my foot and extend my leg completely straight in the air.

It burns, it stretches my hamstrings, but it's a good burn. And Sasuke's burning now, too. I can see it in his eyes. He watches as I switch legs, then roll onto my back.

"Stretch me out?" I ask him sweetly, and I don't even bother to hide the hunger in my voice. It's an innocent enough request, but there's nothing innocent about the way I ask for it.

Sasuke smirks again and kneels down on the mat in front of me. He lifts my left leg, pulls it over his shoulder, and then presses me down into the mat. The muscles in my leg stretch and strengthen, but I don't even feel the pleasurable pain. All I feel is Sasuke's weight on me, pinning me down, his clean, smoky scent all I can concentrate on as he seals any distance between us with his body.

"That good for you?" he asks me, the double meaning not lost on me in this haze of attraction.

"So good," I reply smoothly. His nostrils flare again and I can tell he likes the way I talk to him. Maybe not what sweet little Sakura from high school would have done. But I'm not that girl anymore.

He switches legs then, and this time, his fingers trail lightly down my calf. I feel goosebumps erupt on my skin because _no way_ was that an accident, and when he repositions himself, he keeps one hand tight around my ankle as he pushes my leg back.

This time, he holds it in position for a few seconds. I'm too lost in whatever crazy chemistry's brewing between us to note that this hurts; Sasuke's face is next to mine, and when his teeth drag lightly over my shoulder, I release a sharp exhale that makes him chuckle.

Smug bastard.

He lets go of my leg, lets me stand up, and, like nothing happened, I sidestep him and head for the treadmill.

"If you're done taking advantage of me," I tell him over my shoulder, walking on the idle machine to get it started, "I'd very much like to burn some calories. Are you gonna help me, or what?"

Sasuke chuckles again, before murmuring, "Do the twenty-minute circuit. I'll be right back."

He's leaving? For what? Sure he'll come back, but how the hell am I supposed to explain my presence if one of his teammates or coaches or their assistants come in?

Not to mention, I'd been having such a nice time pushing all his buttons…

Ugh, whatever. Stupid Sakura. Burn some of this energy off, idiot. Don't. Let. Him. Win.

So much easier said than done!

* * *

When I'm done the run, I'm wiped out. But it's a good kind of wiped out. The kind that makes me think I'm one step closer to the first baseman I want to be. I hop off, fanning myself, and Sasuke opens the door again right on cue.

"Let's go," he tells me. "Batting practice."

Well, fuck me. I'm taking batting practice on a professional baseball diamond, with a professional baseball player coaching me (and making out with me at nighttime.) I can't stop the smile that tears my face in two as I follow him eagerly back up to the field.

It's nice, because in the winter, when it's cold as hell outside, the stadium has a retractable roof. It's heated well, and I don't feel cold in my shorts and tank top. The stadium's enormous; fifty thousand empty seats on all sides, bright lights illuminating the perfectly-maintained diamond. During the season, the Heat sell out every game (working on something like 405 consecutive sellouts, a league record), and this place is packed to bursting and full of life.

I'm expecting him to have set up a pitching machine. To my surprise, though, there's a blonde kid in a Heat hat waiting on the pitcher's mound.

When he sees me, he gets this big, likable grin all over his face and runs over to greet us.

"Hey, Sakura!" he exclaims, shaking my hand vigorously. "I'm Naruto, Naruto Uzumaki! I was catcher until like this weekend and now I'm pitching since Sasuke took my job and I took his job! He told me all about you. Nice to meet you!"

I'm blown away. Not just by Naruto Uzumaki's overwhelming friendliness, but by his words. Sasuke told him about me?

What did he say?

I look at Sasuke in shock as Naruto continues to shake my hand, but he doesn't meet my eyes. Instead, he mutters, "You can let go now, idiot."

"Nice to meet you, too," I reply with a smile, as Naruto takes back his hand somewhat sheepishly.

"So the bastard told me you're going out for softball this year, huh?" he goes on.

"Yeah, I played all throughout high school. I'd've played last year, too, but I broke my ankle."

Here, Sasuke looks up at me, curiosity in his silver-black eyes. He must not have known that about me, I realize, since I hadn't yet mentioned it to him. _Tch, that ain't the half of it,_ I think to myself wryly. _I'd shock you with the things you don't know about me._

"Well, if you want, I could pitch to you," Naruto offers genially, "and Sasuke could catch for me. See, we need extra practice, too…Coach Kakashi kinda sprung it on us that we'd be switching, and Spring Training starts soon so we're off the roster till we prove we can handle our new positions, and…"

"She gets it, moron," Sasuke drawls, bored with Naruto's eloquence. "Here," he adds, pressing a bat into my hands. It's a little heavier than what I'm used to, but like hell am I gonna point that out to Sasuke, and let him smirk at me and call me a weak little girl.

He suits up behind the plate, squats down like he's done it for years. He's not wearing a mask or anything, just his baseball cap on backwards and he looks fucking amazing, all intensity and determination and…

Ugh. STOP. Sakura.

I step into the batter's box. Lefthanded side; I'm a switch hitter. Sasuke sees this, looks at me with raised eyebrows, but I pointedly ignore him as Naruto winds up.

Baseball's different from softball. Softball's underhand pitching with a bigger, slower ball. But I love baseball. I don't mind the difference.

He hurls it into Sasuke's glove, but I'm good at reading the ball. It was too high.

"Ball 1," Sasuke announces, tossing it back to Naruto, who looks impressed.

I like Naruto.

He pitches again. This time it's right down the middle. I swing and make contact, but it hits the middle of the bat and flies back into the stands. Foul ball.

"Strike 1," Sasuke calls, digging another ball from the bag he has next to him and tossing it to Naruto.

"Not bad, Sakura!" Naruto calls from the pitcher's mound. He takes a step off the block, winds, then takes another step…

"Balk!" I shout suddenly, stopping him midthrow, and Sasuke chuckles behind me.

"Balk?" Naruto asks, confused.

I'm laughing now. "You balked, Naruto! I get to take first base!"

"Nice try, Sakura," Sasuke drawls. "You don't take first base if there aren't already baserunners. You get Ball 2."

I laugh harder. He's good; he always catches me when I try to sneak shit from him.

"Aw, give her first base!" Naruto laughs. "She's cute!"

Yup. Definitely like Naruto.

"This ain't a game, it's batting practice," Sasuke says arrogantly. Because he's so much better than all of us apparently. "Pitch it, Naruto. A strike would be great."

We spend hours on the diamond, just the three of us. My hitting's a bit rusty, but by the end of the session, I smashed one far enough to be ruled a triple. I don't have the power to hit it out of a big league park, but it feels amazing all the same. Straining like hell on my shoulder muscles, since they're not used to the pressure of a baseball versus a slower, easier softball, but it's a taste of the euphoria Sasuke's gonna have once the season starts.

Amazing.

* * *

"It was great meeting you, Sakura!" Naruto says, and there's such a likable sincerity in his eyes that I find myself vigorously agreeing. A bit hyperactive, but very sweet. "I gotta get going…have to meet my girlfriend downtown…but we should do this again sometime! Since you're with the bastard and everything, I'll probably see you at all the home games! Right? We can get you seats with all the other girlfriends and wives, if you want!"

My stomach is doing flipflops that have nothing to do with this punishing workout. I nod meekly and stare at Sasuke, who's smirking to himself about something. This doesn't make him uncomfortable? The prospect of dating me on a serious level? Of me sitting in the stands with the other serious girlfriends and wives like I have any right in the world to be there?

"Nice meeting you, I had fun," I say awkwardly. Grinning, Naruto claps Sasuke on the back and says, "She's a keeper, idiot, don't fuck it up!" before running off the field.

Then it's just me and Sasuke.

To dispel any tension that might have been built after Naruto's completely unsubtle remarks about our shaky connection, I hold up one of the baseballs we were practicing with.

"Show me how to pitch?" I ask him with a smile. "It's different than softball."

Sasuke's sweaty and flushed. He looks tired, but beyond that, he looks…content. I don't think I've ever seen him content before.

It's as close to 'happy' as he's ever been.

He smiles. It's not a smirk. It's not a beaming grin like Naruto wears. But it's sincere, and it's Sasuke. And I love it. And I love him just a bit harder.

He approaches me, moves behind me. My breath quickens instinctively even if I'm exhausted; I feel reenergized when he lifts my right arm.

"The power's in your legs," he tells me, his voice deep in my ear, and his hand slides down to my thigh. It's sexy and sexual, but it's also extremely _fun._ "Lead with your left, then follow through with your arm. Release when you cross your body. Understand?"

I do as he tells me, his body close to mine, my back against his chest as I wind up and hurl the ball at nothing. It's got almost no speed to it and little accuracy, but Sasuke's amused chuckle behind me is worth it as it hits the grass harmlessly and rolls to a stop.

He reaches around me, tilts my chin to meet his face, and his silver-black eyes smile as he murmurs, "Close enough."

Then he kisses me on the pitcher's mound, and it takes my breath away.

I still don't know what I'm doing here, with him. Going on dates (because that's what they are.) Kissing him but stopping before it goes too far. Texting and talking and having fun without having sex. These are boyfriend-girlfriend things to do. And Sasuke and me? Are we the boyfriend-girlfriend types of people?

He pulls back and I look up at his sweaty, flushed face, his damp black hair and the contentment I never saw on his patrician features, and I think to myself, _I really, really, really hope so._

* * *

**note**.. Hello again! Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Conflict soon to come (naturally with these two) but c'est la vie and junk.

Having a good time with this one. :) Hope you are, too. Let me know what you think! (Please don't favorite/alert without a review. It's so LAME.)

xoxo Daisy :) Have a good night!


	7. Extra Innings

Maybe I'm going soft.

I don't know what it is, but something's happening to me. It feels like a shift. A real gradual one. Like when one of your friends loses a bunch of weight, but because you're around to see them all the time, you don't notice the difference until you see an older picture, and then you have something to compare it to.

Now I'm sitting in the locker room, just got out of a shower and changed back into regular clothes and I'm waiting to cool off before I head outside into the freezing cold, and even though nothing momentous has happened, I feel like a fucking different person.

It's that fucking girl, I know it. It's got to be. She's the catalyst to this bizarre transformation that's happening here. Without her I know exactly what I'd be doing right now. I'd be getting my ass kicked off the team questioning Kakashi's decision to switch me off the mound. I'd be ignoring Naruto's persistent attempts to befriend me, instead of reciprocating, the way I am now. I'd be slamming a different girl every night, sneaking out of their beds before they woke up, then pretending like I wasn't doing it all to inject some fucking feeling into my life.

Because, if I'm being honest with myself, I feel more than one person's supposed to feel around that maddening girl I can't get rid of. Or rather, that maddening girl who won't give me a reason to get rid of her.

It's good, I guess. The fact that Sakura's not a girl I want to fuck and chuck the way I do the others. The fact that I don't push her on anything, that she doesn't expect anything except everything. And to be honest, maybe I am the boyfriend type. Not for anyone, anyways. But she's the kind of girl you straighten up for.

It's good, I guess. These changes. The fact that I'm unrecognizable to myself lately.

It's good, I guess.

I hope.

I pinch the bridge of my nose because there's a headache coming on. I worked myself too hard today. Not enough to eat, not enough to drink, not enough rest between workouts. My shoulders are killing me. My thighs burn since they're not used to the strain of squatting in a catcher's uniform for a whole game. My head's starting to hurt.

And I think about Sakura's couch, of all things. How it's cheap and lumpy and the stuffing's coming out in some places, and there's a huge dip in the cushions from years and years of use, and I think about how it's the most comfortable fucking thing on the planet, and I think back to when I lost my sanity. When I stopped thinking about my own couch, my own expensive couch that's soft and cushiony in all the right places. When I stopped thinking about that couch as my favorite. When I stopped thinking about my apartment as my home, rather than what it's become lately: a place to shower, grab some clothes, and lock up on my way to Sakura's.

Two weeks it's been since I reconnected with her. Two weeks, and she's breaking me down little by little. Remolding and refashioning me into something new, someone different. And what happens when there's nothing left to change, pretty girl? What happens when you've made me into somebody I used to know?

What happens if I want you to do it?

Two weeks and I'm a new man. There's still that strange, slow burn of anger that boils under my skin like a disease. It's always been there, feels like. But now, it's tempered by this…I can't even fucking explain it. I guess you'd have to be in love to understand it, and maybe I'm in love with her, yeah? I'm not sure. I don't know what the hell I'm doing, this is new territory for me.

But what I mean to say is even though the anger's still there, it's harder for me to tap into it. It doesn't flare up as easily as it used to, at every little thing. How can it, when I spend so much time being fucking _satisfied_ with the way my life's going?

I never expected that shit. I never expected to see her again. I never expected to go home with her every night, stand with her on the precipice of something scary and new and maybe permanent, if I'm lucky and if I don't fuck it up the way I fuck up absolutely everything else in my life.

But here I am.

Waiting to cool down and head to her apartment so I can lay on her couch and she can rub my shoulders and tell me about her biochemistry labs. So I can kiss her as long as she'll let me, so I can tease her about her inability to stew meat and laugh at her pout. So I can fall asleep with her on that fucking couch and hope to God I don't wake up to find it's all been a dream.

* * *

When I get to her apartment, she answers the door with a beaming smile on her face. I swear to God, it fucking lights her up from within like she's got her own personal sun inside. Like I'm the person she likes most in the world, like she's thrilled to see ME. I'll never understand what she sees in me to make her smile like that, but I hope whatever the hell it is, it sticks around a little bit.

"Hey!" she says happily, almost incredulously, like she can't quite process that I'm here. It breaks my heart, a little. Whatever cold, stony shit remains of my heart, that is. Because you only ever wear that look around a person you don't trust to stick around, and I've never given you any reasons to think I might stay, have I, pretty girl?

Well, I will. As long as you'll let me. Before you figure out what a fuckup I am, and throw me out on the street where I belong.

She stands up on tiptoe to kiss me and pulls back with another shining smile. "How was practice? Oh, shit, sorry, come in. You've got to be freezing."

Always worried about me. I roll my eyes but can't bring myself to be genuinely irritated by her concern as she ushers me inside her warm, welcoming apartment, shuts the door behind us. The biting wind can't reach us in here, and the warmth radiating from the heater feels fucking perfect on my skin as I take off my coat.

"You look exhausted!" Sakura exclaims.

"What'd you expect?" I deadpan. My whole body aches. I'm a professional ball player. This is the shit that happens.

Sakura chuckles, amused by my bad attitude rather than offended by it. "Oh, sit down, you big baby. I'll make some dinner."

I catch her hand before she moves away, pull her back, take a minute to recommit her features to memory. The way her green eyes widen a little bit, then darken, because she's attracted to me the way I'm attracted to her. The smattering of light, barely-visible freckles dusting her nose and cheeks under her eyes. Pink lips, moisturized with mint chapstick, and pink hair to match them, immaculately straight today, and I know it's like silk to touch, so I touch it.

"Come to my place," I say impulsively.

She looks surprised. I'm surprised at what I'm saying. Sakura's never been to my apartment before. We've always hung out here, at hers.

But if this is ever gonna be serious between us, the way I want it to be and the way Sakura thinks it can be, then I need to open up to her the way she does to me. I need to meet her halfway. And that means showing her things I do not show other girls.

Starting with my home. I'll try and give her my heart, too, if I still have one. If she's okay with damaged goods.

"Your place?" she repeats, but she's smiling, and I wonder if she knows what a big step this is for me. It's not, 'meet my parents' since my parents are deaddeadgoneanddead, but it's maybe the next best thing I can give her. A chance to see where I live when she's not around. "North Side, I'm guessing?"

"How'd you know."

"You're rich," she replies, pretending to be disapproving even as she tugs her coat on, wraps a scarf around her neck, tucks the ends into her collar. Smiles up at me. "Wow, the bachelor pad of the famous Sasuke Uchiha. I'm not worthy!"

Her eyes sparkle with mirth as she kisses me soundly, and I tamp down the sudden urge to slam her up against a wall and relieve some of this tension that's been building between us like a forest fire. But Sakura's right about taking things slow, and I won't push her.

Even if I want her more than I want to breathe, it feels like.

"Let's go," I say.

I slide my arm around her waist and as we head outside to the bus stop, she's chatting away at a hundred miles per hour about her friends, about her classes, about her assignments, about some teacher named Tsunade who's doing so, so much for her career, about her workouts and everything and nothing. This girl can _talk._

She doesn't expect me to respond to everything, though. That's what worked so well about our friendship before; she talks, I listen. It's a good balance. Sakura's got some good things to say, too, so it's not painful listening to her.

She's warm against me as we wait at the bus stop. It's that miserable, aching kind of January cold, the kind that won't go away or even pretend to go away. The kind that rip tears from your eyes and turn your fingers to numb, rigid rocks you have to somehow thaw enough to spin the combination to your gym locker. Her cheeks are flushed as she talks, whether with cold or pleasure I can't tell, but I indulge myself a small amount of egoism and tell myself she's blushing because of me.

"…thinking I can graduate a year early, get a jump on med school, then a residency somewhere…ugh, but listen to me, I suck! I didn't even ask about your day!"

"You did," I tell her with a wry smirk. "But then you cut me off bossing me around to get inside."

"Oh, whatever. Oh, there's the bus! Thank God, it's freezing. But anyways, Sasuke, seriously how was practice?"

"Fine."

"Great! Kakashi's happy with you behind the plate, then? He's got to be, he's got to be glad to have a strong lefthanded hitter in you, especially if you bat cleanup behind Ebisu? Pitching you'd never see as many serious at-bats but this way, you can…"

"Why don't we just have you coach the team?" I ask her, amused by how fucking into this baseball shit she gets. And it's a stereotype, but one I subscribe to: it's fucking HOT when a girl knows her sports.

"I'd whip you all into shape like you wouldn't believe," she tells me without missing a beat, like she's thought of this before. The bus pulls up and we get on, find seats in the middle around all the grumbling bus passengers who complain that we let the cold air in. I hate riding the bus; someone with money like mine shouldn't have to. "Starting, of course , with off-season practice. You'd _never_ leave my gym!"

I chuckle. I can't help it. This crazy girl makes me _laugh._ I can't believe it, neither can anybody else, but it happens frequently now. Laughing. Fuck.

I have to keep her around.

The bus ride is cramped and uncomfortable and with so many people inside, it's starting to get hot. But the North Side's a lot nicer than the South Side, and after a few minutes, you can watch as the buildings get bigger, the houses get fancier. Sakura looks out the window and I can't tell if she approves or not, her expression is unreadable.

I'm not trying to impress her with how much money I have, all the nice things I can afford to buy. Sakura's never been interested in that kind of thing. She's deeper than that. Money doesn't mean as much to her as helping people, as doing what makes her happy. And I respect that about her more than pretty much anything else.

We pull up to my apartment and I tug the cord so the driver lets us off, and that's when I really process what I want from Sakura. Not for her to be impressed by all this wealth I barely earned, but for her to accept my place the way she accepted me.

She's the first girl I brought home, after all.

The bus pulls away and I don't look at her face, instead I take her hand and head to the building I live in. The doorman greets me by name, with a cheerful, "Good afternoon, Mr. Uchiha. Bit of a chill in the air today, hope your practice went smoothly!"

"Thanks," I mutter.

"And a very good afternoon to you as well, Miss," he tells Sakura.

"Thank you!" she replies brightly. "I hope you bundle up pretty well under that uniform, it's deathly cold out! Or you at least had your flu shot, you'd be miserable without it!"

The doorman laughs, looks pleased that someone's making conversation with him. It never really occurred to me before, but it's got to be a shitty ass job, here opening and closing doors for rich assholes like me who don't think about exchanging pleasantries now and then. And then you have out-of-place Sakura, who could talk up a houseplant if she had a mind to.

I sigh and tug her through the revolving glass door; she chirps a cheery goodbye to the doorman and then we're in the lobby.

There's a chandelier overhead. Pristine lounge furniture. Plush red carpeting, ornate wall decorations.

Sakura whistles through her teeth.

"Really slummin' it at my place, huh, Sasuke?" she teases me, elbowing me in the side.

"Quiet, woman."

I lead her to the elevators, surreptitiously press PH on the switchboard. She sees me do it and her eyes widen.

"Penthouse?" she squeals. "You live in a _penthouse?!_ Sasuke you told me you had an _apartment!_"

"A penthouse is an apartment," I mutter as the doors shut and we start a seven-story elevator climb to the top level. I glance at her out of the corner of my eye and she looks so fucking good in her little coat and some skin-tight jeans that all these elevator fantasies explode in my head like atomic bombs.

It's getting almost impossible to keep my hands off her. Whatever self-imposed rules we've assigned each other, something's gotta give sooner or later. I want that coat off of her. Those jeans, too. I want…

"I've never been in a penthouse before!" Sakura tells me.

"It's not that big a deal." The bell dings, the doors open. I take her hand again and pull her into the foyer. Punch in a few numbers on the security pad outside; the door to my place unlocks and I pull it open and we're inside.

Sakura wastes no time. She moves around from room to room, from the living room with the pristine, barely-used furniture and the gigantic TV, to the kitchen with the marble countertops and the stove-I-never-used. All the latest appliances. Everything immaculately clean, thanks to a cleaning lady I've never met. She says nothing as her gloved fingers run along a top-of-the-line coffeemaker, then the counters, then the stovetop.

She moves to the bathroom, with the separate shower and bathtub-I-never-used, the porcelain his-and-hers sinks that came standard with the place even though no one's ever been in here but me and the cleaning lady I've never met. She whistles again, then heads to my bedroom, the biggest room on the floor.

"Your bed is a _monster,_" she tells me, stunned. It's a California King, with a dark blue comforter on it that I always end up sleeping on top of, rather than under. Another enormous TV. A closet full of baseball shit. A minifridge full of alcohol.

Every 19-year-old guy's perfect bachelor pad.

I expect her to comment on how expensive everything must have been. On the size of the televisions, the fact that I have three empty bedrooms I don't need. On anything but what actually grabs her attention.

"Hey, our yearbook!" she says happily, finding the hardbound book on a bookshelf full of shit I never actually read. She shrugs off her coat and snatches it from the shelf before tossing herself across my bed on her stomach to read it.

Something clicks then, the second she settles onto my bed like she belongs there.

This apartment, this penthouse, this monument to my self-centeredness, it's not home. It's a place I go when I'm done at practice to sleep until the next practice. It's a place I fill with all sorts of pricey shit I never needed in the first place. It's a place I don't keep any memories for myself because memories belong in a home, and this is just somewhere I go sometimes.

Until Sakura steps inside, lays herself down on my California King bed, opens a yearbook, and fills the whole fucking space with light and laughter. She injects some life into what used to be nothing but a space, makes it as homey and comfortable as her apartment is all the way across town, just by being here.

"Here we are!" she exclaims happily. Points to a page in the middle of the book. "God, I haven't seen these pictures since graduation! Look how _pissed_ you were!"

I look where she's pointing. Under "Most Likely to Succeed" is a picture of the two of us, Sakura smiling blindingly at the camera holding a stack of books in her arms, next to me, a baseball bat across my shoulder and this perennially pissed expression on my face.

I smirk. "Didn't want my picture taken."

She laughs, lost in happy memories, as I sit down on the bed beside her, watch her page through the book eagerly, like a kid digging into the newest Harry Potter novel for the first time.

"You know we really cleaned up at the Senior Superlatives, didn't we?" she says, nudging my knee with her elbow. "We got Most Likely to Succeed, Most Attractive, Cutest Couple…wait, how'd we pull THAT one off? We weren't even dating!"

"Tch," I scoff, rolling my eyes. "Tenten was Yearbook Editor. Real funny."

A few minutes pass and she gets bored with the yearbook, puts it back on the shelf, hops out of bed. My first instinct is to pull her right the fuck back, but I restrain myself.

"Looks like your oven's never been used," she teases me. "Mind if I take its virginity?"

_Mind if I take yours?_ I think traitorously, only to wonder if I'm too late for that part. It wouldn't surprise me. Sakura's an achingly beautiful girl, it's not like I'm the only one to have ever been interested in her.

The thought's sobering, and it makes me think of what that asshole was saying to her at the bar the other night. Called her 'easy'.

Maybe there's a lot more to Sakura Haruno that I'm just not seeing. Something she's hiding from me, something she's glossing over.

"Tch. Do whatever you want," I tell her instead.

"Come help me," she insists, tugging me out of the bedroom, back into the kitchen.

"I can't cook."

"I don't care. Set the table, at least. I'll try and make us something edible."

Even if I'm suspicious about her, if I'm wondering things I might not really want to know the answers to, I fucking love the idea of Sakura screwing around in my kitchen. It's like half domestic-goddess, half-sex kitten. I'm immediately struck with a dozen mental images of bending her over the pristine marble countertops, knocking the top-of-the-line appliances to the floor and pounding into her. I can't escape this maddening attraction to her, I just can't.

So I watch her as she works. Watch as she lights the gas burner, adds oil to the frypan. Watch as she stirs and cuts and dices and mashes and whatever. I have the table set in seconds and I'm sitting down in one of the expensive chairs when the words tumble out of my mouth.

"Are you a virgin?"

It's not what I wanted to ask her. Or rather, it's exactly what I wanted to ask her, just not how or when I wanted to ask it. But it's out there now, and I watch as her shoulders tense up.

A few seconds pass, and she finally says, "No."

It's the answer I expected but didn't want to hear. Is it hypocritical of me to be disappointed? When I've fucked more girls than I could ever even remember?

"I guess you're disappointed in me," she sighs, pulling the stir fry off the burner. "But…I made some bad choices, Sasuke. For a long time, I made some bad choices. And…I'm trying not to anymore." She looks at me, a little sad. "Can you understand that?"

More than you'll ever know, pretty girl.

Abruptly, my disappointment vanishes. Because we're equal right now, seems like. On a level playing field for once. She's not worse than me, she's not better. In this area, at least, this shaky period of self-improvement, we're equals. It's enough; I don't need her to say anything more.

I smirk at her.

I get over my disappointment at not getting to be her first pretty quickly, circumstances being what they are. Because maybe, with a little luck, I'll get to be her last.

* * *

Dinner's over, and Sakura lays back on the bed, on the pillows this time. I lay down next to her, and she traces my jaw lightly with her fingers, lost in thought. There's a bottle of wine between us, but it's running low, and the color's high in her cheeks.

"You know," she says softly, a smile on her face, "I'm really happy. Right now. I mean, with you. Whatever it is we're doing, I'm happy."

I know she is. Sakura doesn't lie. There's no mistaking what's written in her eyes. And even if I can't believe it, something big and warm swells in my chest at her confession.

"I didn't think I'd ever see you again, after graduation," she goes on, her eyes soft in the dim light of my room. "I tried…to keep in touch, I mean. But…"

She trails off, and there's not necessarily accusation on her face, but it's close enough that it makes me feel uncomfortable.

"Sorry," she murmurs. "I just…I don't know. I wanted you to know that I missed you. I thought about you all the time. I hoped you were doing well, and it looks like you are, so…if it's worth anything, I really, really missed you."

Worth everything, pretty girl. What you think and how you feel is worth everything.

"I missed you too," I mutter. And I did. More than I could ever probably tell her. So much it hurt sometimes. But the words would sound insincere coming from me, so I pull her in against my chest and hope the gesture's enough to convince her.

"Don't see how you could have," she teases me, all playful and cute. "All the girls you were with? I probably wasn't a thought in your head!"

There's no real hurt in what she's saying, but she's just so wrong about it I can't find the words to tell her how. Do you really think that, pretty girl? That I chose those girls over you? That they meant _anything_ to me? That you're not a million times better than the best of them?

Can I tell you, pretty girl, how I left you because I was no good for you? Can I tell you I loved you for years but it wasn't _enough?_ Can I tell you how I hated myself for leaving you behind?

Can I tell you how I'm back now and I don't even care anymore how bad I am for you, because of how good you are for me?

"If you think that," I tell her roughly, my voice coming out harsher than I mean it, "then you're an idiot."

She looks up at me, confused, and I wonder if it's the wine or just what I'm saying. She looks drunk. Maybe I'm drunk, too, to be saying these things to her, but like hell am I gonna let her think she ain't good enough.

"They didn't mean anything," I mumble, avoiding her eyes. I finish the bottle of wine just for something to do. "They're not like you."

"You pedestalize me, Sasuke. You don't really know me to say things like that."

Sakura sits up, all traces of mirth gone from her face, which is now profoundly, profoundly sad. It twists something in my gut to see her like that. She runs a hand through her long pink hair and stares at the blanket through bleary eyes.

"You think I'm somebody I'm not," she tells me sadly. "You think I'm the same girl I was in high school. Innocent and whatever. But I'm not, Sasuke. I'm worried I'm not gonna be enough for you. And all I've ever wanted to be is enough for you."

I don't really register what she's saying. My brain seems to hone in on the last part. _Not enough for you._

And I ain't proud of my reaction, okay? I ain't proud of this. But I get _mad._

I jump out of bed. I glare at her where she's sitting. I start yelling.

"You think _you_ weren't good enough for _me?_" I snap.

Sakura looks shocked. I understand why. I can probably count on one hand the number of times I've ever yelled at her, but she needs to hear this. This lack of self-esteem is working my last nerve because she should never, ever feel like that around me.

"I left because I wasn't good enough for _you,_" I hiss at her, and I watch in primal delight as her eyes narrow, pissed at my reaction. "I didn't want someone like _you_ to waste her time on someone like _me._ Is that what you wanted, Sakura? To be another one of the girls I go home with and forget about the next day? Is that what you wanted from me?"

She's on her feet, too. Much shorter than me. At least a foot, but she carries herself like an angry goddess all ready to mete out punishment on a disobedient disciple. She gets close to me, right in my face, eyes glossy with alcohol and anger and something _else,_ something that sets me on fire from the inside.

"I wanted you, Sasuke! I loved you since preschool, practically! You're telling me you wanted me back, but were too much of a coward to admit it? You're telling me you skipped out first chance you got, never spoke to me again, never would have if we hadn't run into each other at the fundraiser?!"

Each word stings like acid, but she looks so fucking good at the same time. I feel heat curling in my stomach and below. My hands itch to touch her, my head goes foggy. The anger's still there, but now it's tempered by this fucking desire I can't shake.

"You act like you're this awful person and I'm up on some pedestal, but you don't even _know me,_ Sasuke! You don't know the shit I've done, the bad choices I've made, the person I became because you LEFT! You were GONE! You don't _know me_ anymore!"

She's right. She's so fucking right. I don't know her the way I used to.

And in that moment, I don't care.

I don't care about our rules, either. I'm serious about her. She's serious about me. We're shit at communicating, and this isn't how I planned it happening, but it IS happening and I'm not gonna fight it anymore. I grab her arms and pull her in and kiss her like a madman.

She kisses me back, just as frenzied, and she doesn't fight when I half-throw her back on the bed. I'm on top of her in a nanosecond and she doesn't protest when I yank her sweater over her head. She's fucking gorgeous in a cream-colored lace bra and those jeans, sprawled out on my bed with her angry eyes and kiss-swollen lips. Fucking perfect, fucking mess, fucking mine.

I _love_ her.

"You don't know me!" she growls when I kiss her neck, her blunt nails raking up and down my sides like talons. "You don't know me, Sasuke!" she repeats, like a mantra.

"Then let me find out," I growl back, my hands sliding down her stomach. I work open the button of her jeans and she doesn't stop me. Instead, she meets my eyes and nods once, curtly, and all the affirmative I need.

Hours, we go at it. For hours I growl obscenities and prayers and litanies in her ear, for hours I move inside her and it's somehow a million times better than I imagined it. She knows what she's doing, that's for sure; every move she makes smacks of experience, and it isn't the turnoff I thought it might be, knowing that I'm not the only guy to have seen her like this. Naked and vulnerable and still so fucking beautiful.

Not a turnoff. A turning point.

When we're done, I look at her and she looks at me, both of us exhausted and sweaty and spent, and we know something's changed between us.

We turned a corner. Crossed a boundary. Passed a test of some kind, feels like.

No going back now. I'm in too deep, so is she. And if this is love? It's scary as hell.

* * *

**note..** Hope y'all Americans watched the debate tonight! They're giving it to Romney; I'm giving it to Obama. He was cool and collected, and knew the shit out of what he was saying. Compared to Romney, who cut off the moderator and offered a whole lot of nothing. UGH. POLITICS. Who you votin for, loves?

Also, how'd I do? Let me know! (And at the risk of sounding like a broken record, pleasepleaseplease don't favorite or alert without a review here and there. I'm not begging for feedback; but it's nice to have some from people who CLEARLY like the story!) Good night, everyone!

Dedicated to my Phillies. For finishing at .500 for the tenth consecutive year, for never quitting this season, for being the sexiest team in baseball and for 2013 and beyond. PHILLIES. I love you.

xoxoxo Daisy


	8. Most Valuable Player

I wonder if I'm crossing a line here.

See, it's Spring Training. Or rather, it's the day the Konoha Heat heads down to Suna, where it's warmer, to begin their preseason training. It's a month full of practice games against the other teams, where they rotate players and positions to try and get a good feel for who's gonna be where once the season starts in April.

Well, anyway. It's a tradition for families to see the players off at the airport. Parents, wives, children, girlfriends.

I'm not sure what category I fall into, or if I'm even supposed to be here. But I show up anyway, because I'd rather cross a line than let Sasuke down somehow. The thought of him having nobody here to wish him well, with his family dead and everything, was so heartbreaking to me that it ended up outweighing my nerves at showing up like I have any right to be there.

So there's a huge crowd of people gathered outside Terminal C. The team's so big they need an entire flight for themselves. All the players will be going. Coaches, assistants, too. And the rest of us are huddled together waiting for the team to come through the airport and board their flight.

I don't know how I'm supposed to dress for something like this, so I hope what I picked isn't…wrong. Because this is the last I'll see Sasuke for awhile. A month, at least, since I can't afford to come visit him in Suna and I don't even know if he would want me to. But anyways, yeah. If it's the last time we see each other till Spring Training's over, I want to make sure I leave a good impression on him.

So I picked a pretty cream dress and black nylons and boots that make me tall enough to kiss him without having to bend him in half to reach me. And a coat because it's _freezing,_ and I curled my hair and made sure my makeup was perfect, and now that I'm standing here waiting for him so I can give him one last goodbye, I wonder if I'm overdressed. Everyone else looks really laidback, casual, in jeans and sweaters. Maybe it's not a big deal to them, to Kotetsu's son or Iruka's wife, to see the players off, since they do it every season.

Maybe it's just a big deal to us first-timers. Sasuke's never been to Spring Training before, having just been drafted this year.

I wonder if he's nervous.

Chuckling to myself a little, I shake my head. Of course he's not. He's Sasuke.

"Ex-Excuse me," someone says to my right, jerking me out of my thoughts. I jump a little and turn to see a tall woman with this long, beautiful sheet of shiny black hair looking at me. She's got piercing light eyes that I think are absolutely stunning, and she smiles sweetly at me. "You're S-Sasuke's girlfriend. Right?"

A slight stammer, I notice. Not quite sure how to answer her, I reply, "Um, something like that," and then I laugh sheepishly because it sounds ridiculous. I sound like a typical Sasuke Uchiha groupie, don't I? It's only because Sasuke told me otherwise that I don't feel like one. "I'm Sakura."

She shakes my hand and smiles again. "I'm Hinata," she replies. "I'm N-N-Naruto's girlfriend."

I gasp. "YOU'RE Hinata? Wow, it's so nice to meet you! Naruto hangs out with us sometimes and he does nothing but talk about you! How have we not met before?"

Hinata giggles. "Probably because Sasuke d-doesn't like to sh-share you," she says coyly, and I feel myself blush like crazy. "It's nice to m-meet you, too! I th-thought I'd be the y-youngest girlfriend h-here."

We chat awhile, and figure that I'm the youngest girlfriend here by a few months. Besides the players' kids, I'm the youngest _person_ here. I wonder if I could ever fit in with these other women, and it's a little bit intimidating being in the same position as a woman in her late thirties, two kids beside her and a career to get to once she's done bidding her husband farewell. The age gamot in baseball is really as expansive as they come in professional sports; in basketball, hockey, football, most players tap out while they're young, since their bodies give out quicker. Baseball players can have longevity in their careers if they play right. Sasuke could play well into his forties if he had a mind to.

Sasuke could come here twenty years from now, kiss his children goodbye, and then I wonder if Sasuke will ever have children. What they'd be like.

Absently, I think to myself what a good father he would be someday, if he ever decided he wanted that.

"You're gonna miss him, huh?" Hinata asks me, apparently seeing the nervous way I keep looking down the hallway for a glimpse of the team coming through. I fiddle anxiously with a lock of my hair and sigh.

"Yeah. I will. Everyone else here looks so relaxed, like they're not worried or anything…why do I feel like I'm the only one who feels like this is the end of the world?"

"Because it's your first time, sweetheart," a tall, exquisitely beautiful woman tells me with a warm, friendly smile on her lips. "It gets easier."

"Th-This is Kurenai," Hinata stammers out, introducing the woman, who I see now is heavily, heavily pregnant. "She's C-Coach Asuma's w-wife."

Asuma is the first base coach for the Heat. He's usually found in the dugout with Coach Kakashi, cigarette in his mouth as he argues strategy with Kakashi. I hadn't known he was married, and to such a fiercely lovely woman at that. I've never met him personally, just seen him on TV during games.

"Nice to meet you," I reply as I shake her hand. "I'm Sakura. Sasuke's…" I trail off, uncertain how to answer, because even after weeks and weeks of exclusive (as far as I know, anyway) boyfriend/girlfriend type activities, we still haven't had The Talk, and…

"…girlfriend," Hinata finishes for me, abruptly, and Kurenai's scarlet eyes glow.

"I was hoping I'd get to meet you," she says. "The girl who straightened out Sasuke Uchiha? Pleasure's all mine. Asuma tells me nothing but good things about him, Sakura. He looks good this year."

"I'm really proud of him," I say honestly, even though I'm not all that pleased at being called 'the girl who straightened out Sasuke Uchiha.' That makes him sound like a wild animal or something, rather than just a guy who made some mistakes trying to fill holes with all the wrong things. And I did the same thing, so it makes me uncomfortable hearing someone joke about it like that.

"Oh, there they a-are!" Hinata says suddenly, pointing, and then all of a sudden, the crowd I'm with starts clapping and cheering. The Heat has arrived, and they're heading towards us all of them laden down with carry-on dufflebags and dressed for the cold weather. Other people who recognize them stop to cheer as well, and I look desperately for Sasuke as his teammates acknowledge the applause with waves and tips of their hats.

Finally I see him towards the back, a backpack slung over one shoulder, muttering some nasty response to whatever Naruto's saying beside him. He's so goddamn gorgeous in jeans and a Heat jacket, his hair falling into his eyes and his expression completely relaxed, like this ISN'T the prelude to the most exciting year of his life so far.

And I'm in love. GOD I'm in love. Every bit of me's surrendered to this crazy connection we've built, bent, but never broken. All my defenses, he tore through them like crepe paper, and sometimes what I feel for him is so overwhelming I can't breathe, but in a good way. In the _best_ way, because no other boy in the world could do this to me. And I think, in a selfish, silly corner of my mind, that maybe he might love me, too.

Hinata, surprisingly, breaks rank first and runs toward Naruto, launching herself into his arms. I've known her for all of five minutes, but she seems like a painfully shy, reserved person; clearly that's not the case when her boyfriend's around. I watch Naruto beam, spin her around, kiss her soundly as his teammates tease him goodnaturedly, and then I tear my gaze away, absently approving, so I can watch Sasuke's reaction when he sees me.

He notices me finally. I'm a little hard to miss with my bright pink hair, and I hold my breath. Do I run to him? Do I throw myself at him like Hinata did with Naruto? Do I wave casually, like I'm above it all, or…

He smirks. Like he expected me to be here.

He even shows teeth, a little bit. Usually his smirks are close-lipped. But when I see a flash of perfect white canine, I melt a little.

"Hey," I say nervously, and what the hell am I nervous for, anyways? I just saw him this morning, tugging my clothes back on and kissing him goodbye. I didn't tell him I'd be here. But I AM nervous. He's never called me his girlfriend, so am I making a mistake showing up unannounced. "Um…I'm sorry, I didn't tell you I was planning on…um, coming, but…"

I trail off, and Sasuke closes the distance between us. He's not typically demonstrative; apart from drunkenly making out with me in the corner of a bar, and stray, playful touches that make me pissed and hot when he knows I can't do anything about it, we keep a respectful distance in public. So when he's so close to me, the pads of his fingers tracing my cheek with one hand, the other holding the strap of his backpack, I feel breathless, weightless. He's happy to see me. He's not upset I came.

"Naruto told me to," I babble, just for something to do, because the way he's looking at me makes me blush and blush and stammer like Hinata does. "Like, a few weeks ago, but I was worried you wouldn't want me to, so I was…"

"Why wouldn't I want you to," he mutters, before kissing me. It's not the raciest kiss we've ever had, the most passionate, the most exciting. If anything, it's chaste, innocent, but with so much concentrated _something_ into it that to my _shame,_ I feel tears in my eyes. Not the sad I'll-miss-you kind of tears, but the mindlessly joyful kind of tears that come after great sex or something that touches the heart you thought was buried under ice and disillusion.

And again, it's not a question. With Sasuke it never is.

"You'll miss me?" I ask, ashamed of the way my voice shakes because I'm not certain that he will. Did you miss me before, Sasuke? You said you did. I blink quickly and hope he can't see the tears in my eyes, hope he won't misunderstand them, or worse: understand why I'm about to cry and be intimidated by the force of my feelings. I'm aware that everyone else is looking at us, but Sasuke doesn't seem to notice or mind.

"Hn," he replies, a nonanswer, but the smile on his face speaks volumes. I see teeth again.

"And…you'll call me when you land? So I know you're safe?"

"Are you my girlfriend or my mother," he drawls, rolling his eyes, and his fingers sliding into my hair is almost distracting enough to make me miss what he's actually saying.

The Talk, it seems, is happening right now. With or without my consent. I _freeze._

"Am I your…" I break off, unable to believe what I'm hearing. Childhood fantasies, grown-up whimsicalities, are combining in this shocking reality too perfect to exist, only it DOES. "I don't know, Sasuke," I finish curtly. "You tell me."

"Annoying," he says. And I know I'm never gonna hear him ask it. But for the first time, I know exactly what he wants from me. Exactly what he's asking without asking. For the first time, I understand Sasuke Uchiha. At least for a minute.

"Don't go kissing any other girls while you're gone," I tell him in what I hope is my severest tone, and I grab the collar of his jacket so he knows I mean business. I know Sasuke's gorgeous, that girls drape themselves on him everywhere and that now he's famous. I know he's going to have opportunities.

But if this is going to be real, I want his word that he won't take advantage of those opportunities.

"Aa," he sighs, like he's bored with my nagging, but I'm so giddy I can't help it. Then his gaze turns _wicked,_ the kind of wicked that makes heat in my stomach and my knees start to shake, and he leans in close so only I can hear him. His breath fans against my ear and he growls out, "You're mine now so act like it."

I giggle because I can read the underneath. I know exactly what he's saying even if he sounds like a total ASS saying it.

"It's been exclusive since the beginning," I tell him, sliding my hand down his stomach the way I know he likes. "At least on my end. You don't have to worry about any other guys."

His breath hitches when I hit the sensitive spot on his hipbone, and I giggle again and draw away since we're at an airport and everyone's staring. His eyes are dark, and he's irritated with me and fed up with me and…

Maybe he's in love with me. Just a little bit. Maybe the tiniest percentage of how in love with him I am.

"Hurry up, kid!" Coach Asuma calls from the gate, a grin on his bearded face. "You wanna miss the preseason?"

I sigh. Time's run out. It's only a month, though. It won't be too awful. I can text him and call him and think about him, and what's more is he's not the only thing in my life right now. I have so much to keep me busy while I work on my own success. A month's separation is not going to kill me. It's just going to suck.

"You're gonna miss your flight," I tell him. "Be careful. Make sure you _eat_ or I will send ready-made dinners to your hotel every single night and have Naruto tape you eating them for evidence. Oh, and don't strain your arm too much, I know you like to put all you've got into everything and blahblahblah but if your arm gives out and a runner tries to steal second? Don't even get me started. And…"

Sasuke cuts me off with a kiss. "Quiet, woman," he says curtly. "Get outta here."

I smile and tuck my hair behind my ear and watch him walk away. "Good luck, Sasuke," I tell him, sincerely, perfectly content with this whole situation. "I can't _wait_ to see you play!"

And Sasuke pauses right at the gate. Reaches into his pocket, fishes something out.

"You came today," he calls back to me, and he throws whatever he found at me, and I catch it in one hand and look at it. And Sasuke says something to me he's never, ever said before to anyone with any measure of conviction.

"Thank you."

I watch him cross the gate, disappear onto the plane with nothing further from him. But looking down in my shaking palm at what he gave to me, I realize I couldn't ask for anything more.

It's the key to his place.

* * *

**note..** This is my favorite of my in-progress stories. I'm having a great time writing it and I hope you like reading. Thank you guys for your support, it means a lot! :)

xoxo Daisy

And please no favoriting/following with reviewing every now and again. You guys know me by now.

Oh, one more thing! In the MLB, typically pitchers, catchers, and coaches report to training camp way before the whole team does. I took a little liberty sending them all down together. For any huge baseball fans who noticed and were gonna give me a hard time ;)


	9. Call to the Bullpen

In Suna, it's always hot.

I haven't been here since I was a kid. My parents took my brother and me to the beach for a few days over summer vacation. I remember getting bad sunburn and my hermit crab ran away.

Still, though, it's weird how well you remember places you haven't been in awhile till you're there again. It's weird how good people are at forgetting the things that don't matter at the time, and remembering them full force when they do matter again. I haven't been to Suna since I was six years old. Thirteen years ago. But I know exactly where to find the Starbucks at the airport.

It was a longer flight, though, than I remember. And now that I've got a girlfriend (even hearing it in my own thoughts is fucking surreal) that shit matters. If I hadn't found Sakura again, I don't think any distance from Konoha could have been far enough. Without my family, it didn't feel like home anyways. The penthouse the team pays me to live in, the pictures I don't have on the walls, the friends I don't invite over because I don't want anyone seeing how empty this perfect life of mine is. Leaving Konoha for any stretch of time wouldn't have been a catastrophe; if anything, it might have been a salvation.

It's different now, though. I've got someone at home waiting for me to come back. I've got someone who worries about me now, who accepts me for all the shit I do and have done, who doesn't want me because I'm rich and famous.

It's different now. A lot's different now.

I miss her already. I'll shoot myself before I admit it out loud, but I miss her already. The Styrofoam cup in my hands is full of Sakura's favorite coffee as the Konoha baseball team makes its way through the crowded airport into the hot Suna sun.

* * *

I'm starting to get excited for this now. That's another thing that's different. I wasn't excited about baseball season before, even if it was my dream come true once upon a time when I didn't scoff at phrases like 'dream come true' and 'once upon a time.' It was something I accepted myself doing with a bitter sort of irony. Like 'good job, asshole, you finally made it…too bad your dead family wouldn't have wanted this for you anyways.' I was waiting to fuck everything up for the team because that's all I've ever been good at dong. Fucking things up that matter.

Seriously. Look at my track record.

Seriously.

But it's _different_ now. There's this charged kind of energy not just inside me, but in the whole fucking team. I'm eager to get on the field again. I'm eager to get behind the batter and fuck up his at-bat. I'm eager to bare-hand a ball and gun down a baserunner. I'm eager to feel the vibrating timbre of the bat in my hands as I smash the shit out of a fastball thrown by a professional pitcher because _I AM that good and I fucking EARNED this._

Naruto finds me on the team bus, he always does. He's on the phone, though, chatting loud and long all about Suna, even though we've only been in the fucking city for twenty minutes, just left the airport. He sits down next to me and I hear parts of his conversation with his girlfriend.

"…hot as hell, but you should come down and see us! We're heading over to our field now. Yeah, they assign all the teams a different place to play, and we start scrimmaging against the other teams at the end of the week! Should be great, babe! Uh, I don't know if they have _visiting hours,_ I'm pretty sure if you wanted to come down you could."

I think abruptly of Sakura, and I imagine what she might look like on these pristine white sand Suna beaches and now it's not just my heart that misses her, but my whole body. I want her to come see me. I want her to visit me, even if I said it didn't matter.

She doesn't have a lot of money. That's always been true about her, even back in high school. She always had a job while the rest of us were fucking around blowing our inheritance money or our daddy's money or whatever. But Sakura earns every penny she has, she takes care of herself, and it's one of the things I like best about her. She's the kind of girl who doesn't need anyone; it makes you work that much harder to be one of the people she actually likes having around. That way, you know you're there because she wants you, not because she needs you.

Maybe I'll fly her out myself. I'm already making all kinds of commitments to her without really having to think about it, like the apartment key I handed over like it was nothing.

Worth it, though. To see that look in her eyes, like I gave her the world. I gave you MY world, pretty girl, whatever you want out of it you can have it just don't leave me alone.

"You know what, Hinata? You should totally bring Sakura with you when you come down! You should see the look on Sasuke's face right now, he's completely lovestoned!"

I throw Naruto the filthiest glare I can muster, but I feel it lacking the necessary venom. Sakura's gone and changed that about me, too. Annoyed, I look out the window of the bus as the driver pulls away from the airport.

"All right, I miss you, too, believe it! Can't wait to see you in the stands cheering for me! I love you, too!"

Naruto hangs up and rounds on me almost instantly.

"Didja call Sakura and let her know we got here safe?" he asks, like it's any of his business, and if he wasn't my best friend, I'd probably yell at him for intruding.

"Hn. No."

"Dude! Girls worry about that kind of stupid thing! Call her! Tell her I said hi."

I roll my eyes, but he's got a point. I have to remember that there are new rules now in this game I'm playing. I'm not looking out for just myself anymore; there's a pretty girl back home, and maybe she's sitting on my bed right now missing me and I hope she is, anyway, and she's worrying about me while I'm away living my dream. I have to keep reminding myself of that, because fuck do I love it from the bottom of my useless soul that I have a girl waiting for me.

But I ain't talking to my girl in front of _Naruto,_ or any of these other asshole teammates of mine. So I pull out my cell phone and text her instead.

"To: Sakura

Suna's hot. Don't forget to lock your door."

And then there's proof that she's waiting for me, proof that makes me inflate on the inside because _this girl_ must love me back. She texts back immediately.

"From: Sakura

Don't you dare dehydrate. Drink plenty of fluids and keep your ass in the gym and your eye on the ball; I don't want you embarrassing me on Opening Day striking out your first time at bat. :)"

Shit. I knew the whole time I was falling for her but now I think I've hit rock bottom.

* * *

It's a different atmosphere down here at the Suna stadiums. Just knowing all the other teams have arrived and are working hard to try and beat us, it makes all of us work harder. But it's so fucking hot, I can't help but feel like the Suna Suns have a distinct advantage over all of us. They're used to sweating their dicks off in these horrific conditions.

Still, the first day of camp goes well. Coach Gai's been working with Naruto on his pitches, and he's starting to look pretty solid. Coach Asuma's been working with me behind the plate showing me shit I never thought to learn back in high school; he's optimistic about how I'm doing and it makes me push myself hard because I really have a chance here, don't i? I have a second chance I don't deserve to make it. To leave 'reaching for the stars' behind me, to help this team I've rooted for since I could crawl, to be a part of something bigger and more important than myself.

I have a chance. It's not where I thought I'd be, calling pitches instead of throwing them. It's not who I thought I'd be, getting yelled at for texting in the dugout because my smoking hot girlfriend can't figure out how to use the DVR on the TV in my bedroom back home and needs me to explain it. It's nothing like I pictured.

It's better.

I'M better.

I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop, but I'm also completely, dare I say it, in love with my life at the moment. If it IS going to collapse in a fiery vortex of shit and fuckery like it usually does, I'm going to enjoy every second of it before then.

So yeah. Practice goes well. Real well. I'm tired, but it's the good kind of tired. The tired that follows when you've pushed yourself as hard as you can. The tired that has me staggering into a hot shower in my hotel room a few blocks from the practice stadium to loosen the kinks in my muscles.

I feel a little better after that. I tug on a T-shirt and some shorts and thank every god in the universe for hotel air conditioning as I lay down on the bed. I lazily turn the TV on but nothing holds my interest for very long, not even televised coverage of Konoha's first day at camp. They're covering the dramatic, unexpected, last-minute position change between me and Naruto, but I don't even care. Let them be surprised or scandalized or whatever; I'm a catcher now, and I love it.

Smirking at the peacefulness in my own thoughts, I pull my cell phone out and call Sakura.

She answers on the first ring.

"Hey!" Her voice is happy and upbeat and almost breathless. I can picture the smile she's wearing on that movie star face of hers and it warms something inside me. "Sasuke, hi! How are you?"

"Hn. Good. Did you figure out the DVR?" I'm amused. She's brilliant, she's smart as hell, but she has absolutely no technology savvy whatsoever. It's easy to imagine her frustrated expression as she tries to puzzle out which remote controls which system on my admittedly impressive collection, the way she must be pouting over her incompetence, the way she'll bite her lip and…

"Nah, I gave up," she giggles. "Whatever. I don't know what's wrong with a VCR, honestly. You just press record."

"Tch. Useless."

But fondness coats my voice like a salve.

"Enough about that, though! I'm watching the highlights from your practice today, Sasuke, you look incredible!" Coming from any other girl in the universe, that might be a testament to my looks. But I picked a girl who knows the shit out of baseball, and the compliment carries a lot more weight. "It's great that you have a pitching background, your throw to second in the fifth inning looked like it had to be 100 mph! And when you tagged the runner going to third in the bottom of the eighth? Sasuke you look like a pro already!"

"I AM a pro," I remind her, smirking.

"How's Suna? Probably beautiful. It snowed today after you left, Sasuke! Snowed!"

"It's hot. It's too sunny."

"You have the opportunity to travel the world, and all you do is complain!" she scolds me. Annoying, annoying, annoying and MINE. "Get out there and enjoy yourself! Just not with other girls, or I'll kill you."

My smirk widens. I can't resist an opportunity to tease her.

"Too little, too late."

"Excuse me?"

"Sakura I'm a professional athlete. I've got girls dangling off me everywhere I go. But if it makes you uncomfortable, I can ask the four in my hot tub to leave."

She's got me _teasing_ her. Who the hell am I these days?!

"No, no, no, you go enjoy yourself," she tells me, pissed and amused all at once, the way I like her best. "Just remember I have a key to your place and I will ruin your _life._ And the five guys lying with me on your bed right now will help me do it. You think Konoha's Minor League team is gonna stick to warming the bench for you this season?"

Something primal rises in my chest, this crazy kind of caveman possessiveness; I sit up a little straighter, grab the phone a little tighter, and growl into the speaker, "Nice try, _Sa-ku-ra._" I snarl her name the way I know she likes, and she gasps a little on the other end, tries to keep it quiet but I hear it anyway. "You're on my bed right now, huh?"

She catches the fevered arousal in my voice and almost purrs back, "And I wish you were here with me."

Her words are innocent in and of themselves, but soaked in suggestion. Much like Sakura herself. It's only been barely 18 hours since I slept with her and I feel like I'm starving now.

"I'd pound you right into the mattress if I were," I growl into the phone, and she gasps again. "You fucking little tease. That bed's for you to keep warm till I get back. You _alone._ Understand?"

Sakura sighs exaggeratedly. "A scolding, huh? Boo. And just when it was getting to the good part." Then, she laughs. "Well, if I figure out how to use Skope or whatever, we can see each other at least over the computer, right?"

"It's 'Skype,' Sakura," I sigh impatiently, but this is a whole new avenue I haven't even thought to explore yet. Getting to actually see Sakura's face while we're apart? The possible sexual implications of this are not lost on me, because I'm 19, I'm healthy, and my girlfriend's fucking gorgeous and a _wildcat_ in bed. "But yeah. Figure it out. Then I can make sure you don't have the Konoha Minor League team in and out of my apartment."

"Penthouse, Sasuke," she corrects me.

* * *

Sakura tells me good night an hour or so later; I hear the exhaustion in her voice and know she's got a lot on her plate right now, besides me. And I love that about her. I love that she's her own person. She's got her own dreams, her own wishes, her own desires; she's working on a premed major, she's got a busy social life, she holds down a job and an apartment, she plays softball…

Anyway. I let her go, and miss her a little harder. It'll be a month before the team heads back to Konoha, but when I mentioned that to Sakura, she scoffed at me like I was being ridiculous.

"Sasuke. PLEASE focus on what you're doing! This is amazing. This is the coolest thing that could possibly happen to you. _Enjoy it._ Konoha will still be here when the month is up."

She's right, the meddlesome little thing. So I lay back down on the bed (it's comfortable for a hotel) and shut my eyes; we've got a hell of a workout planned, one that's gonna kick my ass even harder than it was kicked today. I'm some kind of insane person, the kind of insane person who thrives on punishing, grueling workouts that leave me bruised and broken only to keep coming back for more.

Like an abused girlfriend.

Sakura figures out Skype. I'm pleased. It's a nice surprise after the workout to end all workouts, a text telling me to let her know when I get back to the hotel, so we can try it out. And I can't believe these are the kinds of things I have to worry about now: how to teach my _girlfriend_ how to use an Internet program so I can see her face more often.

I shower and turn on my laptop and open the program and _there she is._ She must've just gotten out of softball practice because her cheeks are flushed and her hair's thrown up in a messy, careless ponytail unlike how impeccably-styled she wears it any other day. She looks surprised to see me on the screen, and lets out a delighted shriek.

"I see you!" she exclaims, thrilled, a smile on her face that lights up Suna all over again, even though it's dark. An excited laugh. A fluttery round of self-applause. "I figured it out! This is awesome!"

I smirk, amused by how proud of herself she is. "Hey."

My mind immediately drops to the gutter. It's not my fault. She's the best sex I ever had, and prior to my leaving, I was getting it from her every day. Multiple times. Her experience and my experience and this terrifying connection between us all combine to make me starving for her, and I am a split second from telling her to take off her shirt and let me see underneath when the door to my hotel room is thrown open.

"Hey, asshole!" Naruto says cheerfully, a cup of instant ramen in his hands as he sprawls himself out comfortably on my bed like he owns it. I glare at him, but his attention is caught by the girl in the computer. "HI, SAKURA! HOW ARE YOU?"

Sakura giggles. "Hey, Naruto. Saw you on TV today! Stellar pitching, absolutely stellar."

"BELIEVE IT!" Naruto grabs the laptop out of my hands and has no idea how close I am to ripping his head off. "Didja see me strike out _Kotetsu?!_"

"Sure did," she replies, clearly amused by his stupid reactions, and all I want to do is murder him for interrupting.

Still, though. Since I introduced them a month ago, Naruto and Sakura have gotten along like crazy. I won't ever say it out loud (much like most of the things I'm thinking on a minute-to-minute basis) but I like the friendship we've got going. Naruto's intrusive on my relationship with Sakura without meaning to be, she's overly tolerant of it, and I'm not as pissed as I should be for his constant cockblocking. He's not a threat to me. The three of us, it's comfortable. It's like it was always supposed to happen, our friendship.

So I sit and stew in my irritation as Naruto regales my smoking hot girlfriend with a long-winded, mostly-fictionalized account of his strikeout of one of the best batters on our team. And there's another practice tomorrow so I ice down my knees when Sakura orders me to, and I mentally tick off another day in my head until the team heads back to Konoha.

I'm enjoying myself, I really am. This is my fucking dream, and I'm living it.

But there's something waiting for me back home that's even better than this.

A bossy, snarky, technologically-challenged annoyance that's looking more and more like my dream come true every day.

* * *

**note..** Well, I really couldn't resist a Sasuke-crazy-in-love chapter. Build him up buttercup baby, and all that. Problems to come, though. I promise.

I also promise a happy ending because I literally can't type anything else.

And to answer the question: since the Phillies are out of contention this year, I will be rooting for the Giants in the World Series. I can't stand the Cardinals for eliminating the Phillies last year, plus Hunter Pence, my beloved (who is playing like garbage since he misses me) now plays for San Francisco. And if someone gets to have a ring this year, it better go right on his handsome finger.

SIGH.

Love you guys. How'd I do?

xoxo Day-Z.


	10. Strike One

"So…I hear you've been seeing a lot of Sasuke Uchiha," Tsunade says, a shallow imitation of subtlety, but that's never been her strong point. I look at her from across the exam table I'm prepping inquisitively, and I see her eyes full of mirth.

"We're dating," I admit, and it's the first I've told anyone. My friends know about Sasuke, that we're friends from back in high school, but no one knows _everything_ about him. I'm not sure who I can tell, who I can trust. We should keep things private for now, right? He's a _celebrity,_ something that's easy to forget when he's in cotton pajamas with me on the couch, watching reruns of The Office latelatelate at night. We need to tread carefully.

But I'm _dying_ to tell someone, and since Tsunade's the closest thing I have to a mom, the words are out before I can stop them.

"Dating?" she echoes, and her attempt at 'surprised' falls flat. She must've figured it out before. "You mean, exclusively?"

A silly game to play, since I know her as well as she knows me. I roll my eyes and strip the used paper from the last patient off the table and sanitize the area while she chuckles knowingly to herself.

"Yeah. It's…kind of secret, actually. He just left for Spring Training."

"That's got to be tough. I dated a professional basketball player in college…it was always tough for me when he left for away games."

Well, that's something new I hadn't known about her. I really only thought there was her husband Jiraiya, a creepy sports editor and erotic novelist, in her life; for whatever reason, the possibility of someone in her heart before Jiraiya never really occurred to me.

I think when you find your soulmate, then everyone else doesn't really count.

At least, I hope so.

"I didn't know you dated a basketball player," I say.

"There's a lot you don't know about me," Tsunade replies smoothly. I know I'm her favorite so I know more than her other students, but she's right. "There's nothing wrong with keeping things close to the vest every now and again. Everyone needs secrets."

I think about her words as I organize her patient files for her in the office. I think about the kind of person I was a few weeks ago. I think about the kind of person I am now, and there's a difference, a big one, and I _like_ that difference.

I have a boyfriend now. It's Sasuke Uchiha, and part of me still can't believe it. I keep his key in my pocket all the time so I can pat it and remember that this whole thing is real. Solid evidence, that I didn't just lapse into some adolescent fantasy where I'm dating the boy I've loved since forever. It's real.

I love Sasuke. I have for years, and I want him to love me, too, and I really think he does. At least fractionally, and it shouldn't be enough, but it is. And I think to myself that I don't really want him to know about who I was before him.

I told him I made bad choices. That should be enough for now, right? Maybe forever. He accepted it and moved on and never asked me about it again, but I didn't go into detail on what I was up to. Leading a double life, almost. Normal college girl, normal college friends, and a night life full of hard liquor and easy men. Numbing myself with rum and expressing myself with sex and dancing until my legs went numb.

Hating myself in the morning because I was such a shitshow. So desperate for escape from the life I chose for myself that I'd self-medicate with a lifestyle nobody would ever expect me to be capable of.

I don't want Sasuke to know about that.

I want him to see me for who I am now, for the person I want to be. The hard-working student, the first baseman. The perfectionist, the social butterfly, the girl with all the ambition.

The girl who never, ever stopped loving him even when things got hard.

That's who I think Sasuke loves. I don't think he'd particularly like the hard-partying, bed-hopping, slutty trainwreck I was when we met up again. And the idea of losing him after all these years of fucking cat and mouse makes my stomach ache.

Is it lying, if you leave out parts of the truth?

* * *

There's one person you can never, ever lie to, though. Never, ever withhold truth from. One person who has no choice but to accept you for the good choices you make as well as the bad ones, one person who loves you enough to put you in your place when you need it, one person who won't judge you because they're as fucked up as you are, and you need each other.

That person, for me, is Ino. My best friend since forever. And not telling her about what's going on with Sasuke feels like a lie, and I can't lie to her. So after clinic duty with Tsunade, I make plans to meet her for coffee at the campus café, and when she sits down at the little table by the window with me, I blurt it out without thinking.

"I'm seeing Sasuke."

Ino doesn't look surprised. A smug grin unfolds across her face, and all she has to say is, "Does that mean Kiba's on the market again?"

Reflecting on my shallow, meaningless series of detached hook-ups with fun, easy-going Kiba Inuzuka _who left his fucking dog tags in my apartment weeks ago,_ I blush a little shamefacedly and glare at my cinnamon coffee like it's being an asshole to me.

"We were never official. He's always been on the market."

Ino knows that, knows we just messed around. She's not too different, the way she approaches men and dating and hooking up and all the ways those three things don't necessarily have to happen simultaneously, so I don't have to worry about her judging me for doing it myself. I feel another twinge of guilt for holding out on her for so long.

"Yeah, I know that's the official story or whatever," she drawls, swiping a hunk of whipped cream off her frappuccino and licking it off her finger. "But I always thought he had a thing for you. Besides, you know, his _thing._"

"You're reading into things again," I sigh. "It was always no strings attached. But that's not who I am anymore, Ino. I don't…I don't wanna be that girl anymore. So when I say I'm seeing Sasuke…I mean it. It's exclusive. Real. I'm going for it, I'm really going for it this time."

I sound like a recovering addict. Like it's taking everything in me to stay afloat, to keep off my bad shit, fly straight and shit. But it's so _easy,_ embracing this new version of me, and I just don't want the differences to be lost in translation. I want the people I care about to know I'm making a change, to believe in it the same way I do.

Ino doesn't disappoint. Your best friend won't disappoint you.

"I heard you the first time. I guess you guys have to keep it quiet for now, yeah?"

"Yeah. We don't want too many people to know. Sasuke's worried about the media and shit."

Ino laughs, a tinkling laugh that turns the boys' heads in the café, and I've always been fucking jealous of how easily she attracts attention.

"Never thought you'd have to worry about _paparazzi_ as an obstacle to the stony heart of Sasuke Uchiha," she snickers, "did you, Forehead?"

"Cute, Pig. Real cute."

"I'll say," says one of the boys who looked over at us, and he's decent-looking, comes over to our table and leans on the back of my chair. "Both of you are. What's your names?"

"Taken 1 and Taken 2!" Ino snaps, and clearly, the boy isn't decent-looking enough for _her._ "I'm seeing someone, maybe. And _she's_ seeing someone _famous._ Hop off. Go back to your table."

Short, succinct, brutal. The guy looks taken aback before skulking off, all kinds of dejected, and I glare at Ino.

"What?" she asks innocently.

"I _said_ keep it _down_ about me and Sasuke!" I snap in exasperation. "It's got to be a secret for right now! I just didn't want to…to hide anything from my best friend!"

Now, most of my friendship with Ino, to the outside viewer, is laced with nastiness, barbed insults, teasing comments and vicious slurs. Very, very rarely do we say anything to each other that is openly affectionate, because that's never been our friendship and never will be. So when I drop that bomb, and admit that Ino's my best friend and I can'twon'tshouldn't lie to her, her whole expression softens and she smiles.

"You're damn right, you don't hide shit from me," she says with satisfaction. "And I'm hurt you kept it from me as long as you did. You owe me."

I roll my eyes. She ain't mad. "Owe you what?"

"Details," she replies promptly, and her ruby-red smirk turns wicked. "Scale of one to ten…how's Sasuke Uchiha in the sack?"

I blush furiously and almost choke on a sip of cinnamon coffee and I avert my eyes and everything.

But you can't lie to your best friend, remember? You go to hell for that.

"Ten," I admit in a hushed whisper, and she shrieks with delight and I kind of regret telling her, but mostly I'm glad to have someone to talk about this with.

I love Ino, for as much as I fucking hate the bitch.

* * *

I don't stay at Sasuke's house every night. I don't want him to think I'm this creepy stalker who's looking through all his things while he's gone. And I don't, by the way; I use his shower and sometimes his stove and I sleep in his bed, but I leave his shit alone.

Anyway, yeah. I go back to my place sometimes, because I work my ass off for that little fucking apartment and I love it, for as tiny and shitty and cheap as it is. After I tell Ino about what's been going on between me and my (can't believe it but it's true) boyfriend, I skip going to his place altogether, and walk to mine. I miss my overstuffed, sunken-in couch a lot, and my ratty old pajamas and my favorite cinnamon tea packets and my little bear with honey inside that goes really, really great with cinnamon tea.

Make no mistake, okay? I have a very successful boyfriend, but he isn't my whole life. He can't be. No relationship could ever survive on the basis of being each other's _one and only._ You need to have your own friends, for sure. Your own ambitions. Your own interests and hobbies and likes and dislikes separate of that person for it to work. I understand that, and so does Sasuke.

Which explains why I didn't follow him down to Suna. I'm working on myself here. I can't be a good girlfriend if I'm not happy with who I am, and what I'm doing with my life, apart from Sasuke. And I love that he understands that about me, and doesn't try to take it away from me.

So yeah, I get back home and I do some laundry. I cook a quick light dinner and I take a long, wonderful shower with the spray that doesn't really work all that well, but Sasuke promised to fix it for me when he gets back from training. He hates my shower.

When I'm clean and bundled up in warm, comfortable pajamas, I start in on my homework and make sure my phone is on and charging in the outlet beside me. Sasuke's probably on his way home from practice now, or will be soon, and…

My phone lights up; a text from him, and I smilesmilesmile because there's no greater feeling in the _world_ than a text from the boy you're crazy sick in love with.

"Hey."

Three letters that make me melt into a puddle of goo all over my chemistry textbook.

"Hey!" I reply quickly. "How was practice?"

"Go to Skype."

Now I'm, like, extremely incompetent when it comes to computers. Or machines. Or pretty much any technology. It's something I'll need to work on, going into the medical field. It took Sasuke a long, long time to explain how Skype works, but I finally figured it out, and I turn it on without much difficulty in time to see his face staring at the screen, waiting impatiently for me to catch up.

"Hi!" I say almost breathlessly, and am I _really_ that girl? The kind who gets _breathless_ during a conversation?

Apparently, yes. Yes I am. I'm too happy to see him smirking at me to register how fucking _pathetic_ that is.

"You look so tan!" I exclaim. Suna looks good on him. So does pretty much everything, but his ego's enormous, and I won't feed into it. "I don't think I've ever seen you so dark."

"I don't think I've ever seen you so pale," he returns, smirk widening, because he knows I'm sensitive about my fair skin. I don't tan at all. In the sun, I burn up like a lobster, and it fades right the fuck back to white.

I give him a dirty look and he laughs. Not a big, boisterous laugh, because that's just not Sasuke's way. It's quiet, raspy, but genuine, and I love him for it, and I love myself for making it happen.

"How was practice?" I ask, in too good a mood to let him under my skin.

"Hn. Fine."

"I have tryouts tomorrow!" I tell him, because he's not great at conversation unless I keep it going. "For softball. Maybe I'll try a position change, too, like you did…seems to be working out for _you._"

"No. Stay at first base. You're good there."

"Really?" Sasuke almost never dishes out praise.

"Yeah. You're fast." His expression turns almost sinister; a familiar attraction courses through me, and my body misses him almost as much as my heart does. "You don't hold anything back."

He's not talking about softball anymore.

"You keep your eye on the prize," he goes on, and I watch as his eyes drift from my face to my chest and back again, and I want to fuck him through the screen. "And you're all over the runner."

_Definitely_ not talking about softball. I smirk at him because I'm good at this game, too, and I let the strap of my tank top slide down my shoulder. I watch Sasuke's eyes follow and I lower my eyelids.

"You're pretty fast, too," I tell him, barely able to contain my laughter, because if there's one thing I love more than sleeping with Sasuke, it's teasing him. "Almost…_too_ fast."

He catches my drift and his eyes narrow in threat.

"Pretty…unsatisfyingly fast, to be honest," I lie, just because he's reacting. Like a baby.

"See if you say that when I get back home," he growls. "You didn't have any complaints the night I left…fucking begging me for it…"

I remember exactly what he's talking about, with astonishingly vivid clarity. Bastard fucking teased me the whole time. Kept working me millimeters away from release only to pull back, drag it out, torture me until I yelled and screamed and _demanded_ he finish me off, and it was fucking incredible, and…

"I miss you, Sasuke," I tell him, sincerely, and I do. To the point where it's like a physical ache, and it's barely been a week since he left. There's a whole season of baseball to play, not to mention the postseason, should they make it in the fall. I'll see him here and there around home games, but he'll be gone a whole lot of the time and tired during his free time. Plus I'll be so _busy_ this semester, and I know I'll be missing him a lot until break, but he's worth the wait. "I miss you so much. I can't wait till you come back home."

His vengeful glare melts, and he smiles a rare Sasuke smile. I see that his hair's damp, and I miss the way it feels between my fingers, the way it tickles my face when he leans down to kiss me.

"Plus Ino's dying to read you the best friend Miranda rights and whatever, so…"

"What?"

"I told Ino we were dating," I clarify. "And boy does she have some questions for _you!_"

"You told _Ino?_"

Sasuke sounds angry, and I'm a little bit taken aback. "Well…yeah, she's my best friend…it didn't feel right to keep it from her."

"She can't keep her mouth shut!" Sasuke snaps. "I told you, this thing with us has to stay secret for now!"

Part of me (okay, a lot of me) is really hurt at what he's saying. To an extent, I understand it. Sasuke's always been a very private person, doesn't like people knowing what goes on in his life for the most part, and a relationship in the public eye, like an ordinary girl dating this celebrity athlete, would throw us right where he doesn't want us to be: directly in the limelight. I get it. I don't want that, either.

But I can't help but wonder if there's something I'm doing wrong. A reason Sasuke doesn't want people to know about me. The idea that he's _ashamed_ of me occurs briefly, but I bat it away. I can't possibly fucking deal with that so I ignore it.

"She knows to be quiet," I assure him. "I promise she won't say anything. But Naruto knows about us, and he's _your_ best friend…and I came to your goodbye thing at the airport, all the other players and their families saw me. It's not like it's some huge secret. People are gonna find out eventually; I just wanted to be the one to tell my best friend about it."

Sasuke sighs deeply.

"All right," he says.

The playful banter's gone. The mood's ruined. For the first time since he left, I really don't feel like talking to Sasuke. I'm hurt without really knowing why, and what's more, I don't want him to know it.

"Sorry to cut it short tonight," I say with a cheery smile that doesn't reach my eyes, and I hope he can't tell through the screen. "But I have so much studying to do, and I have some friends coming over to watch movies later on. I gotta get going."

Sasuke blinks. "Aa," he says. If he's suspicious, it doesn't show on his face.

"I'll talk to you tomorrow," I tell him, when I will hopefully be in a better mood than I am right now. "Good luck at practice, let me know how it goes! Night, Sasuke!"

I switch the computer off and stare at the blank screen for a few minutes, lost in thought. I have a really bad feeling in my stomach, the kind that usually precedes something terrible happening, and even though I try to dismiss it, I can't. It's like a cancer, taking root inside of me and spreading till it's too late to get rid of it.

Keeping my relationship with Sasuke such a secret before seemed like a really good idea. Keep us out of the public eye, preserve our privacy, blah blah blah whatever.

But now, and I don't want to feel this way, but I do: it seems more like an excuse. Like he's hiding me from the rest of the world, like a crazy relative you don't want anyone to know about.

Or a girl you shouldn't have slept with. Bad news. A dirty little secret.

I'm upset without knowing if I have a good reason to be. But that doesn't make the feeling go away.

Is that all I am, in the end?

Sasuke Uchiha's _dirty little secret?_

* * *

**note..** Hi! Obama wins. I am a happy camper._  
_

Thank you for all the wonderful feedback! To Ori: hahaha yes it is absolutely a huge risk taking an entire team on the same flight. (we are marshall, etc.) So I took some liberties there. I have no intention of killing off my fictitious baseball team. And I fucked up: in the planning stages of this story, I decided to send Sakura on a hospital construction trip to Colombia, in South America. Last minute, I changed my mind and had her go to Costa Rica in Central America instead, but I forgot to edit it out. MY B. Thank you for pointing it out, I'll go back and fix it.

Anyway, I appreciate all the comments and look forward to more! Thanks for reading :)

xoxo Daisy


	11. Backstop

We lose our first scrap game against the Suna Suns.

I'm pissed. I know it doesn't mean anything. It's a scrimmage; they're not playing all their starters and neither are we, since we're just kind of going through the motions. Getting back into the swing of things (no pun intended. Ever.) Wetting our appetites, so to speak.

But I _hate_ losing.

This is the kind of field…this competitive sports thing…that's either my salvation or my annihilation. No middle ground. Even though Kakashi and Asuma both told me I did a great job calling pitches for Raidou (who didn't have his best shit today) all I can think about is the third inning, when I called a fastball that this kid Gaara beat the shit out of, costing us a run. Yeah, it wasn't my pitch, but I influenced it, didn't I?

Sakura always tells me I focus too much on the tiniest flaw. But if that's true, then this is a horrible industry for me to be in, because anything less than a complete victory with absolutely no mistakes isn't fucking good enough.

Remember, Sasuke: remember you're not good enough, and no matter what, you never will be.

* * *

I kind of yelled at Sakura today.

I feel like shit about it at dinner tonight, just sort of poking at my food instead of actually eating it. Naruto, next to me, doesn't seem to suffer from the same problem, as he's already on thirds before anyone else has even gotten to serve themselves. (The hotel staff can't stand him, but I don't really think it's his fault that they give us free food during the preseason. You have hundreds of sweaty male athletes swarming the city working up appetites. You should've thought about that before.)

I don't feel good about…was it a fight? Felt like one, only she didn't really fight me back. Just kind of…got sad. Like I said something wrong. But she gets it, right?

In a big baseball town like Konoha, the wife, or girlfriend, of a baseball player is sometimes as famous as the baseball player himself. Kurenai is the wife of a _coach,_ and she's practically a celebrity. There's all kinds of publicity surrounding the families or friends of pro athletes in Konoha, and I know Sakura.

Sakura's on track for something great, but her greatness isn't gonna be because she's the better half of Konoha's new catcher. If she even knew what she's risking just by being seen with me, she'd probably hightail it the hell out of my life. She doesn't want her name and face all over the tabloids anymore than I do.

At least I had the choice, you know? This is my dream, and whatever. So like the hotel kitchen staff, I get what I asked for, but in spades.

I don't wanna drag my girl down with me. This shit sucks sometimes. No privacy. No secrecy. A story in the tabloids every other week about what a womanizer I am: playboy Sasuke at it again, or whatever the hell they're coming up with. And things have been quiet lately, since no one knows where I live unless I tell them, and no one knows who I'm seeing, and no one knows it's exclusive.

I like things quiet.

Don't get me wrong, okay? I know this shit's gonna get out eventually. It's got to. There's always someone looking in where he shouldn't be, someone who's gonna slip up and say something to the wrong person, and our secret's blown. Is it wrong of me to want to put it off, though? To keep Sakura to myself a bit longer, before these paparazzi sharks find out that I'm slamming the prettiest, smartest, sweetest girl in the city, and try and turn her into some media darling when all she _ever_ wanted was success in her own right?

Is it wrong of me to protect what she works so hard for?

I ignore my teammates' idle conversation over the dinner table in the hotel dining room, and instead choose to ruminate on the irony of my life:

I don't give two shits about everyone in the world thinking I'm some cold, fast slut, but when I get into the healthiest, happiest relationship of my life, I treat it like it's something to hide.

She gets it, right?

* * *

Since I sucked so much at the game today, I take an extra workout at night. Kind of like a punishment, since I'm so fucking tired and my muscles hurt and I've got a game against Ame in the morning that's gonna be crazy, since it's Naruto's pitching debut in a game.

Suna's still pretty hot at night. I'm sweating like crazy five minutes into my run, and my legs are screaming in protest and I can hear Sakura's shrill, scolding voice in my ear telling me what an idiot I am to work myself so hard, but I keep going. Keep running.

There's something…I don't know. Free about running. And I don't think I've ever felt _free._ Even when I made my own choices, they were never in my own scope. Always with the influence of my family, legitimate or fictional, weighing on my shoulders, acting as both conscience and discouragement from pretty much everything I've wanted to do. Now I'm a slave to my public image, having to hide the best thing that ever happened to me to protect her from the same personal invasion. My time's taken up with too much of my dream come true, and my only real escape is sleeping peacefully, hopefully in my apartment, back in Konoha, where I can't reach her.

But when I run, when I tuck my head and pump my arms and fire some nonexistent energy into my legs and _run,_ it gives me…I guess the _illusion_ of freedom. Like I could keep running, leaving everything behind.

Like I could keep running till I find her.

* * *

I take the longest, hottest shower known to man after my run, and when I'm done, I call Sakura.

I feel bad. It's late as shit in Suna, which means it's even later in Konoha. Probably three am. And I'm a dick, calling her when she should be sleeping, especially since she has class and tests and work and tryouts in the morning, and I'm a _selfish_ dick, too, because there's no hesitation dialing her number.

She answers on the fourth ring, right before it goes to voicemail.

"Hello?" Her voice is dry, raspy from sleep, hazy. I picture what she looks like right now: messy hair, left side of her face red, since she always sleeps on her side, eyes glassy and out of focus. Tired because she works so hard, and I hope she's in my apartment. She'd call it a penthouse, if she were here.

"Hey," I murmur, and I feel all the tension in my body evaporate once I hear her voice. If she's pissed about earlier, she doesn't show it. She answered the phone, didn't she?

"Are you okay?" she asks. "It's…Jesus. It's three am, Sasuke, why are you still up?"

I could tell her I miss her. It'd be the truth. I could tell her I love her, and that's true, too. I could tell her I had a hard day and it's even harder since she's not there. I could tell her why I yelled at her, because she probably _doesn't_ get it.

There's a lot of things I could say, but what comes out is this:

"Tomorrow…lay off the low pitches."

"Sasuke. You called me. At _three am._ To warn me not to swing at low pitches?"

I hear her irritation and I can't stop the smile; Sakura resents criticism in all forms, even if it's in her best interest.

"You can't lay off 'em, and you can't hit 'em," I tell her, and she's fully awake now. I hears it in her outraged hiss and it makes me miss her even more.

"And I suppose you think _you_ can do better?" she snaps back, a silly argument, since I'm a pro ballplayer now, but she makes it anyway. "Keep in mind, _I'm_ the one who told you _first_ that you'd make a better catcher than a pitcher, and that I came to that conclusion _years ago._"

"What does _that_ have to do with you swingin' at grapefruits?"

"Sasuke!"

She's pissed and I _love _it. Because she still doesn't hang up.

"Is that all you wanted? Because if so, I'm going back to bed."

I hesitate, then say, "No. That's not all."

"Okay…?"

I hesitate again. This being a boyfriend shit is hard.

"About…about yesterday." The words sound all wrong coming from me, because they precede an apology, and I can count on one hand the number of times I've apologized to _anyone_ for _anything._ Except for my dead fucking family, but it's not like they heard 'em anyways.

"It's fine," she says quickly, understanding right away, and it is so NOT fine that she knew exactly what I was talking about. That means she's been thinking about it, that it affected her. That I screwed up the communication somehow, but when did I ever pretend to be any good at communicating? My closest friend is a guy I systemically call an idiot, and I keep my girlfriend under wraps so no one knows she's too good for me and my lifestyle.

Not the hallmarks of a good communicator, but I'm trying, okay? I'm fucking trying.

"It's not," I grind out, even though I want to take the road she's on, and just forget about it. But Sakura's the annoying kind of girl you really have to try for. And I don't want her to be upset about things just because I don't know how to explain myself. "I…don't think you understood why I was…like that."

Silence on the other line, then a sigh. "I think I read into it too much," she says, tone thoughtful, and I know she's playing with her hair right now, I know it. i can almost feel it between my fingers, like corn silk, only thicker, thick enough for my fingers to disappear in. Curly at the ends. "I think I let my insecurity get the best of me. Or whatever. You know I fucking suck at understanding you sometimes."

Is it a flaw on her part, or on mine, for being so indecipherable? Probably mine. Most things are my fault in my life. All she's ever done is look pretty on the sofa and make it hard for me not to smile.

"I'm just…I don't know, Sasuke. Sometimes I worry that…that I'm not good enough for you, or something."

I almost drop the phone. I've never heard something so historically _ass backwards_, and it takes me a minute to realize she's still talking.

"I was worried you didn't want people knowing because you're ashamed of me," she says timidly, almost a whisper. And that's how I learn that Sakura and I have another thing in common.

Neither one of us thinks we're good enough for each other.

But there's a difference. Because she's wrong, and I'm right.

"If you think that," I hear myself growl, "then you're right. You're shit at understanding me."

"What was I supposed to think?" Sakura snaps, angry now, but I prefer her anger to her sadness, to her insecurity. Anger's something I can work with. "You acted like it was the _worst thing in the world_ for anyone to know about me and you. Like I'm some _dirty little secret_ and you didn't want anyone to…"

"I told you _exactly_ why I don't want anyone to know right now," I cut her off. "Sakura, once the paps find out about you, that's it. No going back. I was trying to protect you from the publicity. For as long as I could. Not for any other fucking reason you made up in your head."

"It…it really was just that? Nothing else?"

"Stupid," I hiss at her. "Stupid girl. I know it doesn't make any fucking sense. But you should trust what I say to you because I wouldn't lie to you."

And I won't. Not anymore. I won't tell her the entire truth sometimes, nor do I expect it from her, since we need secrets, still. Everyone needs secrets. But I won't lie to her ever again.

"Okay," she says simply. The anguish is gone from her voice, and I can picture the way her shoulders must have slackened, tension gone. No more fight in her. She trusts me. "I'm sorry. Just some…lingering self-image issues, I guess."

"Have Ino keep it quiet for now," I murmur. "They'll all find out eventually. But for as long as I can…I want you all to myself."

And I know I'm a shit communicator, and nothing ever comes out of my mouth the way it sounds in my head, and of all the girls in the universe, I understand Sakura the _least._ But I hear her giggle, her happy little laugh, and know that for once in my fucking life, I said the right thing.

Feels good.

I hang up after that and I fall asleep, and I forget all about the blown game to Suna. There's one to play against Ame in the morning, anyways. Wake up. Start over. _Finish the job_ and go the hell home already.

* * *

Naruto's not at breakfast the next morning with the rest of the team. It's weird. And because I guess he's my best friend now (how the hell did that happen?), it's my responsibility to find him. We've got a game in two hours and he's pitching.

So I leave the dining room after eating a protein-rich breakfast and head back up the hotel stairs to his room. Hammer on the door. It's unlocked, so I go in.

"Oi, Naruto!" I call, and I hear groaning from the bathroom. Frowning, I push open the bathroom door, and the stench of vomit hits me like a punch in the face. "Jesus, what the hell's wrong with you?"

He's slumped over the toilet, cradling it like a baby blanket, all the color wiped from his face. Eyes glassy, hair a fucking mess, he looks like some drunken shitshow.

"I can't do it," he moans, seconds before he leans back over the toilet bowl and vomits up everything else in his stomach. "I can't do this shit. I've been a pitcher for _two months._ I'm facing fucking _Nagato_ today!"

Oh. I get it. It's nerves, that's all. Pregame jitters. Every ballplayer's susceptible, but the pitcher more than any of them. I know from experience, since pitchers are usually the deciding factor in a game. If the pitcher gets tagged for too many hits, too many runs, and the offense can't bail them out, then he gets the big L. No pitcher wants an L.

But it's my dumbass best friend pitching there today and since I'm catching for him, I'm gonna do everything I can to give him a W. Even if this game doesn't count.

"Suck it up," I snap at him, tossing him a towel. "Fucking pussy. We got a game. Get your shit together."

Inspiring words. Really motivational. But I know Naruto. He's not gonna respond to honey sweet words telling him he can do it. And I'm not the type to even think up shit like that; it takes all the forethought in the world to talk to my girlfriend respectfully, when I'm used to being rude and blowing off everyone who tries to get too close.

But it works. Naruto looks at me, then grimaces, flushes the toilet, and stands up. He splashes cold water on his face from the sink, wipes his skin dry with the towel I tossed.

"You're fucking right, man," he tells me, grateful in a weird way that I'm such a ball-busting dickhead by nature. "C'mon. We got shit to take care of now."

I smirk and nod curtly, a silent affirmation that there will not be a repeat of yesterday's performance.

He's a fucking douchebag idiot sack of shit, but he's my best friend, okay?

He ain't gonna lose.

* * *

The game's televised, and when a game's televised, I treat it like Sakura's watching.

Not the starry-eyed, senselessly-supportive-of-everything-I-do kind of audience, but the way she really is, the way I love her. Almost ridiculously demanding, critical of what's happening, analytical in the way a sports analyst might be. I can read batters, but Sakura can read _everyone._ If baseball were coed, I have no doubts she'd be right here with us, sizing up everyone and devising plans on how to get them out in the most effective way.

Anyway.

I play smarter if I think she's watching, even if she isn't. She's a busy girl, has her own life and friends and classes and responsibilities. It would be dick of me to expect her to sit at home loyally tuning into my every game during the _preseason,_ when it doesn't even count. But I pretend, and it makes me think harder about what I'm doing.

I'm not gonna embarrass her by giving the world anything less than my best shit.

Naruto doesn't look nervous at _all_ as he takes the mound for the first time. Crowd response to him is mixed. No one's seen much of his pitching yet besides what snippets of practice have been caught by reporters, and they're calling Kakashi a nutcase for pulling this position switch last minute. It's a packed house; Ame's a good team. Runner-ups in the World Series last year. Nagato's their homerun champion. He scored sixty last year alone. Unheard of.

Anyways. I tune out everything once the first pitch is thrown. Everything except Asuma, making subtle gestures at me, suggestions about each batter so I can tell Naruto what to throw, and then Naruto himself. Their leadoff man is a huge guy named Yahiko.

I think back to his stats over the past years. (You don't get to the pro level without doing some homework.) And I've been watching him play since I was twelve. He's not old, but he's not young like Naruto either. Plenty of power, but not much finesse. Like Sakura, he goes for low balls, and what's more, is he can't hit 'em. Favors his power swing, high and on the outside corner.

I smirk behind my catcher's mask, grip the mouthguard hard between my teeth, pound my fist into my glove to show I'm ready, before dropping a few fingers between my legs to call for a fastball, low and inside, right at the knees.

Naruto nods subtly on the mound to show he gets it, then draws himself up to full height, lifts his leg to get some power. He's got a fucking wild stance, I've never seen anything like it, but the good thing about that is neither has anybody else here. The ball's out of his hands in this ridiculous arc, and Yahiko eyes it up, takes a swing, and misses. Zips right by him into my glove.

"STRIKE!" bellows the umpire behind me, and I smirk wider and throw it back to Naruto, who's got this stupid grin on his face. Who can blame him? First pitch of his career, and it's a strike. And past a monster like Yahiko, who almost always gets on base his first at-bat.

Naruto's first strike is followed quickly by Naruto's first strikeout. The crowd goes fucking nuts.

* * *

**note..** so sasuke cleared the air, yadig? FOR NOW.

lolz. been gone a minute, yeah? please let me know what you think, yafeelme? hearing from you guys makes me feel guilty about not updating things for more than a few hours. GIVE ME GUILT.

also. i just now noticed these reposted statuses (stati?) people have about stereotypes. like, "i'm democrat, so i MUST have had an abortion" or something i found extremely funny, "i like cats, so i MUST dance like a cat in my spare time." i'm sorry, i just don't understand these stereotypes. the definition of a stereotype is something that is not necessarily true, but is generally accepted as such. i don't think it applies to this, nor do i think ANYONE actually thinks these things about other people past middle school. i think your profile should be things that you think, interesting stuff about you. it helps people get to know you on some level. not things other people thought and you kind of agree with, so you repost it. also the things that say, "repost if you're against mass murder." so...if i don't repost it, i'm FOR mass murder? say whattttt. have an original thought, yafeelme? live and let live, i always say. but every single person on the planet is interesting in their own way: express it individually!

and so concludes my rant against unoriginality and, frankly, the absolutely most irrelevant, inapplicable, and fucking hilarious "stereotypes" as hitherto recorded by modern man. i submit no excuse, except i'm halfway to drunk, therefore two times as philosophical.

review?

love you.

xoxo daisy :)


	12. Mascot

Disembarking from the plane and hit instantly by the sweltering but magical Suna sun, I wonder if I'm doing the right thing.

Sasuke as good as confirmed the fact that he's my boyfriend, right? And we cleared up the little misunderstanding we had two weeks ago, right? And Hinata asked me to come along, so this is fine, right? Showing up here, in Suna at Spring Training, unannounced?

He doesn't know I'm coming to see his game against Oto. And maybe I should have told him. I'm jealous of Hinata, who gets off with me, smiling bright; she knows Naruto will take one look at her and throw his arms around her in joy.

My boyfriend might take one look at me and put me right back on a plane to Konoha, citing boundary issues.

But I miss him, okay? It's weird not having him around all the time. And I lasted two weeks before Hinata called me, told me she had an extra ticket to Suna and asked me if I wanted to go with her. To kind of surprise Sasuke with my unexpected presence.

It was hard getting time off school and work and softball (oh, yeah, I made the team! Starting first base. They have a name for me on the team already: Queen of Diamonds. When I told Sasuke, he laughed.) But I figure taking one weekend off when I work my ass off the rest of the year is perfectly justifiable; Dr. Tsunade just chuckled when I told her, and ordered me to have a good time.

I need to be mindful of Sasuke's desire for privacy. The more I think about it, the more I realize I was overreacting before. He's just looking out for me, essentially. He knows I don't want to be famous. (At least not as the arm candy of Konoha's new catcher.) He wants to keep me to himself, and since he put it like that, I think I've fallen a little more in love with him.

And I want to support him, here, in person. Seeing him on TV is exhilarating, but it's nothing like the real thing. So I won't tell anyone I'm his girlfriend. I won't tell anyone his key is on my keyring with a little gold star sticker to differentiate it from the rest. I won't tell anybody anything, I'll just show up in the stands and smile when he sees me and hope he smiles back.

"You ready, Sakura?" Hinata asks me excitedly. "We have enough t-t-time to check into our h-hotel room before the g-g-game starts!"

Her excitement is contagious, and I hopehopehope Sasuke won't be angry that I came here without telling him first, and smile right back at her with bravery I don't really think I have the right to feel.

"Yeah, sure. Let's go."

* * *

He has a jersey.

My boyfriend has a _jersey._

As pathetic as it sounds, I'm a little bit starstruck. I can't afford the _official_ jersey, so I buy the cheap red T-shirt version, and with his last name on my back between my shoulders, I'm so proud of him I can't even really articulate the words.

Uchiha, number 17.

It's still way, _way_ too early in our relationship to be thinking about a potential change in last name, but the little girl in me squeals a little at the fantasy. Sakura Uchiha, the name I used to write in secret all over my third grade notebooks…

I check myself nervously in the mirror. I don't want to appear overdressed or anything, nor do I want Sasuke to look at me and think I'm a total slob. Is it normal to be this _anxious_ going to see someone who shares a bed with you? Geez, I feel like I'm about to meet with royalty, but I think I look okay. Denim shorts and Sasuke's jersey tee and my hair in a ponytail off my neck because damn if it isn't _sweltering_ in Suna. And he's been playing hard, ruthless baseball here for two weeks now in this unforgiving heat. It's a wonder he hasn't dropped dead of heat stroke.

I slide into my Chuck Taylor kicks and make sure my mascara isn't streaking and a quick spritz of my perfume and I grab Hinata before I lose confidence. She's absolutely glowing in Naruto's official jersey, a baseball cap clapped on top of her sheet of midnight black hair; she, for one, doesn't look the least bit affected by the blazing sun. Her happiness makes her untouchable almost, and I'm genuinely glad for my newest friend, to be in a relationship so easy and fearless.

I want that same thing for me and Sasuke, someday.

"Come on, let's go!" I tell her eagerly, because the game starts in an hour and I want to be in the stands when they call out the lineup. "Do you have the tickets?"

"Right here!" she giggles, seizing my hand. "C-Come on!"

* * *

If I was starstruck admiring Sasuke's last name on my back, I'm fucking bowled over when I step inside the stadium. Because even though it's just the preseason and these games don't technically count, the stands are _filled._ People are screaming, people are cheering, and I'm not the only one wearing Number 17 on my back. Tons of people are wearing Sasuke's rookie jersey. Many of them, I note with no surprise at all, are women. Who can blame them? He's hands-down the best-looking player in the league.

_And he's mine,_ I think selfishly, smugly, as Hinata and I battle our way through the hordes of people to take our seats.

They're reasonably good ones, on the third base line and seven rows back. I have a great view of the entire diamond, the Konoha dugout, and most importantly, the starting catcher, who is throwing practice pitches to Naruto on the mound.

"There he i-is!" Hinata squeaks, grabbing my arm in excitement and pointing to her boyfriend. It's Naruto's turn to pitch, his third game overall. He won the first game with an impressive 1-run, 3-hit showing, and notched a lucky no-decision in a loss his second game the week prior. For a rookie pitcher, that's almost unheard of, so it's not surprising to hear many people cheering for Naruto as he warms up with Sasuke. "Oh my G-God, this is so amazing!"

I'm happy for Naruto, but my attention is locked completely on the stud behind the plate. Sasuke's mask is off, his cap on backwards, intensity written across his gorgeous face as he prepares himself for the game. I think that he's best suited to this position because he's got an inordinate level of control over the playing field, _and_ he gets to play every game, rather than Naruto, who has to wait four games before it's his turn to pitch in the rotation. Sasuke's not the type of player well-suited to waiting around. He's got to be involved in the action as much as possible, and seeing him drill a baseball into the first baseman's glove at what looks to be a hundred miles per hour, I think he's found his niche here with the Konoha Heat.

Sasuke doesn't notice me. I think he doesn't notice anyone in the stands at all right now. He was like this in high school, too, completely focused on the task at hand, and ignoring the screaming, adoring fans chanting his name. With ten minutes left before the game is ready to start officially, the players are called off the field to be formally introduced by the announcer.

I tune out the announcer's first words, welcoming us all to the game and blah, blah, blah, and grip my knees so tightly I leave bruises. I'm too excited to speak, all I can do is gape at the Konoha dugout like an idiot, full of anxiety and pride because my boyfriend's one of them now. And I'm about to see him play live, for the first time, in the big leagues.

"Your starting lineup for Konoha this evening," the announcer calls out. "Leading off, center fielder number 23, Hayate Gekkou!"

The wheezy, raspy-voiced, but astonishingly fast center fielder takes the field first with a lazy tip of his cap to acknowledge the fans. He jogs into position, coughing all the way.

"Batting second, left fielder number 9, Daikoku Funeno!"

Funeno's got really good stuff considering his size. He jogs over with somewhat surprising energy to his spot.

"Batting third, number 4 shortstop Izumo Kamizuki!"

I cheer along with everyone else for the speedy shortstop, but here's the main event. Here's what I came for.

"Batting fourth, number 17, Sasuke Uchiha!"

The crowd response is the loudest yet, and I'm on my feet without realizing it, screaming with everyone else. My ponytail's flipping around side to side, my voice drowned out by everyone else shouting his name, as Sasuke jogs to his spot behind the plate. He looks unbelievably handsome, his skin darker than usual with the sun, his hair pushed back out of his eyes, his physique lean and lethal in red-and-white pinstripes.

Again, he doesn't see me as he claps his catcher's mask on over his face, but I'm here, Sasuke. I'm here for you and you're amazing already and the game hasn't even _started._

Sasuke's batting fourth, which means he's batting clean-up. This is typically a spot reserved for big power hitters, with the assumption that one of the first three batters in an inning can get on base. It's where the best hitter is placed in a lineup; I know Coach Kakashi is trying out different people in a different order every night and that Sasuke might not stay in the clean-up slot, but for now, it's a pretty big honor. And I've seen Sasuke's batting. The kid can _hit._

They call out the rest of the lineup while my eyes stay glued to my boyfriend, until, of course, the ninth man takes the field.

"And batting ninth, number 7, pitcher Naruto Uzumaki!"

Unlike the rest of his teammates, who took the field with humility and dignity and all the things baseball is founded on, Naruto _runs_ to the pitcher's mound, his cap in one hand as he waves frantically to an adoring crowd, who loves him for his antics. Hinata screams herself hoarse beside me, and I can't help my laugh as I watch Naruto nearly trip over his cleats in his excitement. He seizes the rosin bag and flips it in his pitching hand before calling to the umpire for a ball. Then his hat's on his head, and the leadoff Oto batter, a deadly-quick guy named Yoroi Akado (traded from Konoha two seasons ago, if I remember) takes his place in the batter's box.

And Naruto hurls his first pitch, a deadly strike directly past Akado's bat, and the crowd goes fucking _wild._

* * *

The Oto pitcher is a tall, frightening guy named Zaku Abumi, who's got a pretty horrendous reputation around the league for hitting batters intentionally. I glare at him, completely powerless behind the third base line, but threatening all the same as Sasuke strides into position at the top of the second inning (Zaku pitched a one-two-three first inning, so he never got the chance to bat anyone in.)

Without his catcher's pads, Sasuke looks even more ridiculously gorgeous, tall and not overly-muscular, but tight and lean, the way a baseball player should be. Especially one as fast and cunning as he is. He taps the front of the plate, then the back, then the front again ritualistically with his bat before swinging it to show he's ready. The Oto catcher calls a high fastball on the outside corner, from what I can tell.

_Don't fall for it,_ I think. _Let it go by. Work him up on the pitch count._

One of Konoha's main batting issues, unfortunately, is their eagerness to put the ball into play. Sometimes it's better to make a pitcher really work for it, to tire him out; running up the pitch count is a good strategy on occasion. The Heat, however, is focused primarily on swinging at the first available pitch, which, more often than not, results in an easy inning for the opposing pitcher.

Sure enough, because he knows he can hit this first pitch, Sasuke takes a mighty swing, and fouls it off the first base line for Strike 1.

"Damn it!" I hiss to Hinata. "Why do they keep doing that? Swinging at the first pitch? Amateur move!"

Hinata, who knows almost nothing about baseball, just laughs beside me and takes a bit out of her hot dog. "They should have _y-y-you_ coach the Heat this s-season!" she teases me.

I can tell by the set of his jaw that Sasuke's completely pissed with himself. _Shake it off, stupid,_ I think. _It's one strike._

He lets the next pitch go by for Ball 1, and I smirk in satisfaction. Same for the next pitch: Ball 2.

It's pitch number four when Sasuke swings again, at a curveball on the inside, at the knees. As soon as he brings the bat around in a fast, wide arc, as soon as I hear the crack as the ball connects with the food, I know exactly where that ball is going.

I jump up to my feet like everyone else in our section except Hinata, who doesn't know to try and catch the foul. Men twice my size make grabs at the projectile soaring towards us, but I'm the Queen of Diamonds, remember? I grin and jump up with my hand in the air, and in a one-handed catch, I snatch it right out of the sky.

"Foul, strike two!" the announcer calls out. "With a _very_ nice catch by a little lady on the third base line!"

All the other spectators around us start cheering for me, congratulating me, patting me on the back, but my focus is on the boy in the batter's box. The one staring in my direction with his mouth open in shock, before a scintillating smirk twists his features and all my anxiety is gone.

I make eye contact, and I raise the ball towards him in acknowledgement.

Hey, Sasuke.

* * *

After the game (a 4-2 win over Oto, and Naruto's second W), I go back to the hotel with Hinata, since there's no telling how long the boys will take in the locker room. Coach Kakashi likes to have aftergame meetings with them, to discuss what went wrong, what went right, what they should focus on for next time and what needs improvement. I make a mental note to tell _someone_ to have those boys work the pitch counts as I flop onto my comfy hotel mattress, breathless with exhilaration at what I just witnessed.

Sasuke was _amazing._

He went 3-for-4 with two singles, a double, and one groundout in the eighth inning; defensively, he was stellar. He gunned down two baserunners trying to steal second, and called a brilliant game for Naruto, who celebrated his second victory in three opportunities. He's 2-and-0 now with a 2.14 ERA, absolutely amazing numbers for a rookie pitcher. They're a wonderful team, the pair of them.

Hinata, who has screamed herself hoarse, gets a call from Naruto after a few minutes of us just going back and forth, trading favorite moments like giddy schoolgirls. With an excited smile in my direction, she almost runs out the door to meet her boyfriend (she's a smart little thing for getting us rooms in the same hotel as the team.)

Which leaves me to wait for word from mine. I'm confident now that he's glad to see me, judging from that satisfied smirk he'd worn when I caught his foul ball. My hand still stings a little from the speed (you're not supposed to bare-hand a ball, you know) but I haven't let it go all night. I spin it around and around in my fingers, tracing the tight red laces, my thoughts everywhere as I lay flat on the bed.

I don't get a call or a text that night.

Instead, I get a knock at my door a few minutes after Hinata leaves. Breathless, giddy with excitement, I jump off my bed and throw the door open and there he is.

Freshly showered, wearing a T-shirt and jeans and a smirk that makes my knees weak, he takes one look at me and says, "I tell you I wanna keep you a secret…so you make a big spectacle out of yourself first chance you get. Is that it?"

He's teasing me. There's nothing but good humor and casual ease on his face, and something much darker, much more exciting burning in his silver-black eyes. I grab him by the collar of his T-shirt and pull him in, murmuring, "I caught the foul, Uchiha. I want my autograph."

His hands are on my waist a nanosecond later, fingers rubbing harsh circles into my skin and he growls out, "You're wearing my name on your back. That ain't enough?"

Ah, he noticed. The shiny white UCHIHA 17 on the back of my T-shirt. I press my hips against his, the heat and friction between us already out of control, and say, "I couldn't afford the nice jersey…but I figure it's okay, because I have the real thing." And I slide my knee between his legs just to drive him crazy, and judging by the animalistic growl he releases right before he shoves me back onto the bed, it works. His body's on top of mine in seconds, and I realize how much I missed the familiar weight pressing me into the mattress.

"You're not mad I came here without telling you?" I ask him huskily, but he seals his lips against mine, washing away any lingering doubts I might have had. It's only been two weeks, but he kisses me like he's starving, and I respond voraciously, like it's been years. It feels like it. After spoiling myself rotten with his almost constant presence in my life, I'm frustrated with distance now for any stretch of time.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he groans. He's got me out of my T-shirt with his name on the back before I can catch my breath, and his hands roam over my stomach, up my sides. He touches every inch of me with impatient fingers, like he's trying to memorize me, and I belatedly realize I'm doing the same thing to him. I fucking _missed_ this kid.

We lose the rest of the night to kisses and heated reconnection. We lose the rest of the night to being adults locked in the body of adolescents, to two weeks of missing each other after two years of missing each other after ten years of knowing each other. We lose the rest of the night to love, and to each other.

And when I wake up the next morning, damp-haired and flushed and completely exhausted, Sasuke's there to kiss my forehead and murmur in my ear, "Thank you."

Yup. Coming here was _definitely_ the right choice.

* * *

**note.. **damn i miss baseball. i don't like that philadelphia signed lannan as their fifth starter, but i guess it's better than nobody. and i wish we'd made a more serious run for josh hamilton, but that's me. i'm excited for 2013 all the same, and over all this eagles garbage. BOO.

anyway! one question i've been getting lately is what's the significance of my penname. and jinnyskeans is just a rearranged version of skinny jeans. there's no more significance to it than that; i'm afraid that i am a frighteningly shallow person with absolutely no emotional depth. so with that said, what's the significance of YOUR penname? let me know in your reviews, if you are so inclined!

love you :)

xoxo Daisy


	13. Strike Two

I take Sakura out for breakfast the next morning. A rare day off, after a quick batting practice. What's waiting for us at the shitty little diner we end up at isn't terribly surprising. But it still pisses me off.

An article, in the _Konoha Star._

More specifically, a _cover._

* * *

_PREMED PRINCESS CATCHES ROOKIE CATCHER'S HEART_

_SASUKE UCHIHA'S SECRET LOVE AFFAIR HEATS UP!_

Sasuke Uchiha, age 19, made quite a splash when he was signed to the Konoha Heat as a pitcher over the Winter Break.

He made an even _bigger_ splash when he was switched from behind the mound to behind the plate in a strategic move that's got many scratching their heads, but mostly applauding out loud the commendable wit and finesse of Coach Kakashi Hatake.

But what might make the biggest splash of all is the budding romance building between the Heat's most notorious playboy and a lucky young lady who's captured his heart, _and_ the city's attention.

So who is this mysterious beauty?

Sources close to the _Konoha Star_ have identified her as Miss Sakura Haruno, a sophomore at Konoha University. If you haven't heard of her yet, you soon will: Haruno sports a 4.0 GPA in the premed program at KU, and promises to turn the medical field on its head when she graduates. No stranger to the baseball world herself, Haruno is the starting first baseman on the KU softball team. Fans and opponents tremble in fear at her small stature and fairy princess appearance, but don't let her looks fool you: she's not called the Queen of Diamonds for nothing.

Uchiha's string of failed romances (if they can be called that) has ground to a halt with this sudden and unexpected transition to monogamy. Sources say he has been dating Haruno exclusively for the past several weeks; she was spotted at a Spring Training game against the Oto Serpents, catching a foul ball right off her handsome young beau. Neither could be reached for comment, but sources close to the _Konoha Star_ claim that-

I stop reading.

They know so much. So fucking _much._

I mean, it was bound to happen sooner or later. I just wasn't expecting it this soon.

We've been outed.

* * *

Sakura handles it better than I do. Reads the article I shove at her with mild interest, giggles a little bit. "Well I was expecting much worse," she says, passing it back to me and returning to her grapefruit like it's way more interesting. "You know. Poor, desperate thirsty bitch from the Konoha ghetto…I figured they'd work that angle instead. This makes me look much better."

"You're not pissed about this?"

"Not really," she says carelessly. "Not like _you_ are, anyway. I don't care what they say about me."

I wish I shared that philosophy. I wish I could just not _care._ But that's always been my problem. Well, one of my problems. I care too much what people say about me, even if nobody realizes it. Everyone thinks I don't give a shit.

Sakura knows better.

"I have to go back tonight," she tells me, sprinkling some sweetener on the lemon from her glass of water. One of her many, many odd quirks, the way she sweetens the water lemon and eats it. 'Candied lemon', she calls it. "Practice starts tomorrow. Plus Dr. Tsunade would destroy me if I skipped out on anymore lectures."

"Aa." I don't want her to leave. I realize Sakura's got her own life to live, but every now and then, I flirt with the idea of telling her to stay with me. Forget about school. Forget about work. Forget about softball and all her friends. I could take care of her, easily. She could play the sexy eye candy of the famous Sasuke Uchiha for the rest of her life.

Picturing the bruises she'd leave if I mentioned it to her always keeps my mouth shut.

"They're gonna hound you, Sakura."

She frowns over her candied lemon, looks at me with one slim pink eyebrow raised. "Who?"

"The paparazzi."

"Are we _still_ talking about this?" she sighs.

"Take it seriously," I tell her, somewhat harshly, but she's unaffected by my attitude. "You don't know what it's like. They'll follow you around, they won't leave you alone. They'll make up horrible shit about you just to sell their fucking magazines. There's no space. No privacy. No…"

"Sasuke, stop," she says gently. There's an understanding smile on her face that leads me to believe she isn't taking this shit _seriously._ "It'll be fine."

"Fine? Sakura they know your name, your major, your _grade point average,_ where you go to school…"

"But they don't know _me,_" she murmurs. Her little hand reaches across the table and takes mine. Her skin's soft, but there are some calluses there also. Calluses from handling softballs, wooden bats. Calluses from handling herself for 18 years. "As long as you know me, that's all I care about. Let them think what they want."

I say nothing else. What else is there _to_ say, after something like that?

Maybe _I love you._

But it's one of the many, many things that go unsaid between us. Just another secret to throw in the trench. Maybe the most important one, but there's silence in the diner at our table.

* * *

She's gone that night, then. On a plane back home. I want to go with her, but it's just a few more weeks here in Suna. That's nothing. I went without her for two years and survived, didn't I? I can handle a handful of days. It's not like I don't have anything else going on.

Still, though. I miss her. As fucking pathetic as that is.

Naruto's frustrated, too. I can tell by the way he's pitching like a fucking dipshit after the girls go back to Konoha. We're taking some extra practice that night and he's all over the place. His head's not on straight and I tell him so.

"It's just hard, man!" he finally erupts, when he sends a ball so close to my head it almost takes out my eye. "It's like…it's like when you stay up till six am, and then fall asleep till seven. It's worse than if you'd've stayed up all night long. Seeing Hinata…man. This is gonna be hard, ain't it? Being away from our families."

"Hn." I throw the ball back to him, pissed at how heavily I agree with everything the dope is saying. "I don't got a family."

"Sure you do. Sakura's your family. Just like Hinata's mine."

I freeze.

How haven't I thought of this yet? The reason I feel so bizarrely…_attached_. She's more than my friend. More than my girlfriend, even.

She's family.

Naruto fires a fastball at me that's so far off the mark I want to hit him in the face with it. "Shit, man, I know I'm fucking garbage right now. It's good I'm not in the rotation again till Friday. I'd be tagged for six runs in the first inning."

"Yeah, right," I scoff, pissed again. "You'd bean thirty batters and let 'em earn runs that way. Get your shit together. It's just two weeks."

It's a pep talk for myself as much as it is for him. Two weeks is nothing.

Get your shit together, Sasuke.

She'll still be there when you get home.

* * *

The next day starts off bad and just gets worse.

We blow our game against Iwa. Terrible pitching on our part, and on _my_ part, I sucked enough for the entire league. Went 0-for-5 with three strikeouts. I tell myself it's got nothing to do with the hole in my heart but we all know that's bullshit.

Either way, the entire team – even the coaches – meet up at a dive bar in Suna that night to get hammered. Maybe to forget the shitty ass game ever happened in the first place.

That's why I show up.

I sit there at the bar with whiskey in a glass, musing to myself why they'd bother serving something so hard in something so pretty. Everyone else is talking, laughing, having a great time, apparently much better than I am at being able to put what's happened out of their mind, while I just sulk over why I played like such a _rookie._ And the atmosphere's okay, not great. Not like the bars back in Konoha. Sleazy. Liquor served in plastic cups and nobody ever cards.

They card here, but I fly right under the radar. Everyone wants to buy drinks for the pro athlete; no one feels much like making sure he's 21. And that suits me fine.

A guy sits down on the vacant stool next to me. Orders two drinks, one for him and another for me. This is nothing new. Plenty of fans buy us all drinks all the time. I nod in acknowledgment as the bartender hands me a fresh glass, and the guy turns to me to start a conversation. It's the last thing I feel like doing, talking to this kid, but I figure I owe him something.

Gotta please the fans, Sasuke, remember?

"Hey, you're Sasuke Uchiha, right?" the kid says, in a way that lets me know he knows exactly who I am but wants to break the ice somehow.

"Aa."

"You're the new catcher, for the Heat!"

Another obvious statement. I roll my eyes but hide it in my glass, and nod again. Douchebag. You know who I am. Cut the crap. What do you want from me.

Can't you see I've got shit on my mind and I just want a minute to wallow in self-loathing?

"Real great to meet you, man. I'm Suigetsu. Big fan. I'm from Konoha, too." He offers me his hand – thrusts it out, more like – and I shake it dully. Big deal. Lots of fans come from Konoha to see the Spring Training games. Suna isn't _that_ far away, and it's warm.

"Hey, you're dating Sakura Haruno, right?"

At the mention of her name, I freeze up a little. Jesus. The news broke just this _morning,_ and already, people are asking me about her. But because I'm more than a bit buzzed, I figure I'll squeeze this kid for information, see what he knows.

"Aa. Why."

Suigetsu, I think his name is, throws his head back and laughs. Nearly upends his drink as he's doing so. Like he knows some great big giant secret, and ain't spilling.

"Wow, man, small world!" he laughs, wiping his eyes. "I never thought I'd have anything in common with _Sasuke Uchiha._"

"What do you mean," I snap, getting pissed with this, and ignoring the curious stare Naruto's giving me on my other side. "What does me seeing Sakura have to do with anything?"

"Oh don't tell me you didn't know," Suigetsu chuckles. "Sakura…well, girl gets _around,_ if you know what I mean. Makes sense, she'd work her way up the food chain. Get her hands on a celebrity, and whatever."

I don't move. I don't say anything in response.

This isn't the first time I've heard something like this. There was that time at the bar, with that Kabuto kid, who came up to her and shot his mouth off about Sakura being easy. But I blew it off, figuring it wasn't true, just something he was saying to get a rise out of her.

But it came from Sakura herself. Not directly. She never told me she was a slut. She just said she'd done some things she wasn't proud of. That she wasn't a virgin when I banged her that first time.

I just figured she had some useless boyfriend before me, and wrote it off. Maybe I didn't want to think of her as anything…similar to me.

But now I think I might have to.

"Not saying she's with you just 'cuz you're famous, though!" Suigetsu says hurriedly. "Nah, she's a sweetheart, trust me. An easy one, don't get me wrong, but a sweetheart. And I don't need to tell _you_ this," he adds, elbowing me conspiratorially in the side, like we're friends, like this is just some hilarious joke rather than what's gonna get me kicked out of the league for _kicking his ass _about, "but she's a _sweet_ fuck, ain't she?"

I don't feel any guilt whatsoever about punching him right in the fucking face. Fan or no, no one's gonna talk about Sakura like that in front of me.

* * *

Drunk and tired and angry and suspicious is the _wrong time to call Sakura. Three AM Konoha time doesn't help my case in any way either. But when I get back to the hotel, that's exactly what I do._

Her voice is tired and groggy but I hear the smile there, too.

"Hey, Sasuke," she answers sleepily. "You okay? What time 'zit?"

"You were sleeping?" I ask, but I know already she was.

"Yeah. I got back from the airport and did some homework. I'm exhausted. I saw your game today; sorry about that, rough day, huh?"

She sounds genuine. She sounds like a proper girlfriend. She doesn't sound anything like the easy lay Suigetsu described her as, but really, what reason would he have to lie to me? Her famous fucking boyfriend?

He says he slept with her. Who am I to doubt it?

"Aa," I reply, sitting on the floor of my hotel room, my back pressed against the side table, the handle digging into my spine. "Who's Suigetsu, Sakura?"

"Suig…oh."

I don't like the way she says 'oh.'

Sounds like an admission, more than anything.

"How do you know Suigetsu?" she asks me. Deflects the question, I see, through my drunkenness. Wrong move, Sakura.

"I asked you who he is. Answer me."

"He's…a guy I used to see. Before I got with y…"

"Used to _see?_ Define _see,_ Sakura."

I hear her sit up sharply in bed. Hear her exhale hard. Know she's pissed. Good. I'm pissed, too.

"That is _none_ of your business," she snaps at me. "I thought we agreed to let the past be the past, Sasuke. Why the hell are you bringing that up right now? It's three AM."

"Y'mind telling me, then, why he came up to me at the bar tonight telling me you were a great fuck? _Easy?_"

"I can't fucking _stand_ him," she hisses into the receiver. "Damn it, Sasuke, do you _really_ want to have this talk right now? _Really?_ This can't wait till you get home?"

I'm drunk. That's the only real reason I'm not letting this go for right now. If I was in full possession of my mental faculties, I'd be able to see that fighting with Sakura over the phone about something we agreed not to talk about would be useless. But I'm full of so much anger, and my knuckles are still throbbing, and why the _fuck_ can't I move past this? But I'm hearing it from all sides what kind of girl Sakura is, and it's not the girl I thought she was. It's not the girl she is around me.

So who the fuck is she? Is it wrong of me to want to find out?

"No it can't," I snap. "I nearly put him in the _hospital_. I've kicked two guys' asses for saying shit like that about you already. What exactly am I fighting _for,_ huh?"

Silence. Frosty, frozen silence on the other end.

"I told you," she says stiffly, after a few moments have passed, "that I've done some things that I'm not really proud of. And I promised you that since I've been with you, I haven't done any of those things, ever. I haven't even _wanted_ to do them. So you can either take Suigetsu showing up and blabbing about the _dead and buried past_ as a sign that you can't trust me, or accept that he's just a fucking _asshole,_ and the girl he knew is not the girl I am anymore. And I don't really care which, but you better decide quickly, and just remember: I never held _your_ past against _you._"

Then she hangs up. Hangs up on me. There's a dial tone and I can just _imagine_ how pissed she must be, to have hung up on me.

I glare at my cell phone before I throw it across the room. And I fall asleep on the floor stewing in my own anger, and I wake up with dried blood on my knuckles, a raging hangover, and this horrible, raw feeling in my stomach like I just fucked up something huge.

* * *

Am I in the wrong here? Am I a hypocrite?

I know I must be, to get so heated about things Sakura used to do before we got together. It's not like I was the perfect portrait of fidelity. I slept with every girl I felt like sleeping with just to feel something. I was never in a relationship before Sakura, and in fact, out of all the girls I've been with, she's the only one I've ever really cared about.

So is it wrong to resent her doing the same exact thing to me? Sleeping with multiple guys just so she could feel something, too?

I know technically, it makes me a hypocrite. But in reality, I feel like her crimes are worse than mine. I know it's not right or fair, but that's how I feel. Because to me, Sakura's _always_ been perfect. Pure. Untouchable. _Mine._

And with these surprise instances here and there – with Kabuto back in Konoha, and Suigetsu in Suna, and who knows who else later down the road – I'm finding that that's just not the case. And the promise I wanted Sakura to make me, that she'd stay loyal to me and only me forever, regardless of if we were together or not, regardless of how terribly I treated her, was not only _broken,_ it was never even made in the first place. I feel like she reneged on a deal I never told her she was making.

Kakashi gives me the day off, so I watch the game in the dugout with everyone else. It's good that he's sitting me out. With all this going on, I don't know what kind of mess I'd be on the field.

Never thought that when I finally made it to the big leagues, I'd have a problem like _this_ to deal with in the dugout.

* * *

**note..** hi! :)

if you liked it, let me know. only a few more weeks till phillies season!

xoxoxo daisy :)


	14. Third Base

I stretch, reach for it; the big round ball bounces into my glove and I flip it back to the pitcher, who tags first base and gets the runner.

"Good hustle, Haruno!" calls Coach Shizune from the dugout, whistle in hand. "You're up, Watanabe!"

"You're on _fire_ today, what's with you?" the pitcher, Karin, asks me from behind her protective goggles.

"Bad night," I tell her shortly, and it's not nice to be rude to a friend like that, but I'm just so irritated; it helps, to have something that takes a lot of energy to distract myself with. I'm playing softball like a mercenary today.

I take my position at first base again, nowhere near as tired as I probably should be, seeing as how I didn't sleep last night, I got a workout in this morning before classes, and how hard I'm playing right now.

It's still cold in Konoha. Taking that tiny break to Suna spoiled me on the heat, and made it that much harder to endure the winters back here. Luckily, though, I'm a fire-fucking-breathing dragon right now and the cold doesn't bother me like it's supposed to.

Sasuke was _such_ an asshole last night. _Such_ an out-of-line, way-off-base, boundary-crossing, line-crossing, bridge-_incinerating_ hypocritcal bag of _ass,_ and I can't believe he'd talk to me the way he did. Holding my past against me, doubting my loyalty for him, how much I care about him, all because he happened to come across a guy I used to see that likes to run his mouth.

_Suigetsu always was a huge mistake, _I think sourly. _And he wasn't even GOOD._

I can't say if I ran into one of Sasuke's ex-flings, I'd be thrilled. Especially if she came right up to me bold as brass and told me she'd slept with him before. Then acted like it was something to bond over, the way Suigetsu must have.

But I don't think I would have flown off the handle the way Sasuke did. He was drunk, I know that, I could hear it in the slur of his words and at such a late hour, there's no way he was sober, but it doesn't excuse what he said, the vicious things he let slip.

Like how he still doesn't fucking trust me.

"Strike three!" the umpire shouts, as Karin whiffs another batter. "You're out!"

Time to change sides. It's my turn at bat, thank _Christ,_ because all I want to do is smack the shit out of something. I jam my batting helmet on my head and take my place in the batter's box, bat pointed at the yard in a straight-up challenge.

I want to knock the cover off this ball and pretend it's my asshole boyfriend's _head._

* * *

There's a missed call from Sasuke on my phone after practice, but I ignore it. Instead, I stomp right into the showers and let the water run hot enough to burn on my skin.

I played too hard today. I pushed myself too hard. It started off as blowing off steam, and nearly ended with me ripping my shoulder out of its socket swinging like a monster at a grapefruit pitch.

I'm angry at Sasuke and now I'm angry at myself, for letting him rile me up like this. I'm better than this, past the point in my life where I would let a petty fight with a boy affect my mood so terribly, but Sasuke's always been _so good_ at defying all my rules. He's an exception to everything I am and everything I think, one 6'2" contradiction to my carefully-honed defenses. I can keep everyone at bay except for him, and with a few choice words, he not only _pushes_ my buttons, he _smashes_ them.

How am I supposed to keep up with that? How am I supposed to keep my head above water when he's _so fucking good_ at pulling me back down?

I yank my baby blue loofah sponge off the shelf, squeeze some coconut-scented body scrub onto the puff and scrub it into my skin hard enough to hurt.

See, here's the thing. Okay?

I _hate_ the double standard that society applies to men and women. As far as feminism goes, I'm with the program and everything, but this is one issue that gets right the fuck under my skin: the sexual _hypocrisy._

If a man sleeps with a lot of women, then he's a stud. If a woman sleeps with a lot of men, then she's a slut. And I can't _stand_ being made to feel that because I acted on my sexual liberalism, that somehow I'm _less_ than a woman who chooses not to.

I'm not necessarily proud of all of my choices – God knows that a lot of my old partners are scumbags, see _Suigetsu_ – but I never practiced unprotected sex. I took the appropriate measures to make sure that I was protected, and I knew all my partners' histories. It was clean and contained. I kept my heart out of it, but I never put myself at risk for anything. What I did, I did for me: to feel something without investing too much of myself. And men do it all the time without any kind of stigma or repercussion, so why am I paying the price for what I used to do, all these months later? In a happy, healthy relationship with someone who made the _same fucking choices_ that I made, why am I looked down upon? Judged?

_He has no right,_ I think furiously, giving the hot water tap another twist. _NO RIGHT to yell at me like that. I am SICK of this shit!_

Like hell am I going to his stupid fucking apartment tonight. No, I'm going right the fuck back to my place so I can ignore his stupid calls there, in the comfort of my shitty little one-bedroom and away from all his condescending _judgment_.

* * *

After a long walk in the chill, wind cold enough to freeze my still-damp hair, I reach my complex and my little rinky-dink apartment _that I love _because it's _mine,_ and right away, I know something's wrong.

The door's unlocked.

I _never_ leave my door unlocked. Not for any reason. I grew up in a shitty neighborhood and I moved into a shitty neighborhood, and you learn a few lessons here and there about remembering to lock up your door. Panic seizes me as I let myself inside, and I wish I hadn't left the pepper spray Sasuke bought for me in the bottom of my backpack. Still in the wrapper.

My apartment's quiet except for the bathroom. I hear someone fucking around in there. My phone's shut off in my purse to avoid any calls from Sasuke so I can't call 911; instead, irrational bravery (or maybe stupidity, given my current foul temper) claims me and I tiptoe down the hall to confront the burglar myself.

_You picked the wrong fucking day and the wrong fucking girl,_ I think grimly, picturing the vicious left hook I'm going to give him.

Sure enough, when I pause outside the bathroom, I see the door swinging ajar and someone bent over the bathtub. The shower curtain hides his face, but now that I know someone's here, invading my personal space and my home and my life, I have all the right in the world to draw my fist back and move in.

"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?" I scream, lunging at him before I can talk myself out of it.

The guy stands up straight and reacts quickly; his hand closes around my wrist, stopping me before I can punch him in the face. I let out a growl of rage and try to twist away from him, but he holds me tight, snatching my other wrist when I lift that one to attack.

_What was I thinking?_ I ask myself wildly, struggling against him as he tries to subdue me. _He's a foot taller than me, what was I thinking charging him like this?_

"Get…off…of…_me!"_

"Sakura, calm down! It's me!"

I freeze, and stop writhing and flailing long enough to look up into the eyes of Sasuke Uchiha. He looks bewildered at my actions and frustratingly handsome in a T-shirt and jeans, and he relaxes his grip on my wrists when he sees me recognize him.

"Sasuke!" I gasp. "What the _hell_ are you doing here? You're supposed to be in Suna!"

I _hate_ myself. I _hate_ that my first reaction to him is _joy_ that he's back here with me in my shitty little apartment, _happiness_ that his strong, callused hands are holding me, _excitement_ that he's home. Becaues I'm still fucking pissed at him and I don't want to let go of that anger just yet.

"Relax," he orders, not impressed with my glare or my refusal to stop struggling against him. "I'm not gonna hurt you. Jesus."

"How did you even get in here?" I demand, yanking my wrists away from him. "I don't remember inviting you."

"You're my _girlfriend,_" he says, almost mockingly. "Do I need a reason to see you?"

"Reason? No. Maybe a reservation, though, because, you know, I have so many other guys I need to _service_ before I get to you. Surprised you didn't interrupt one of my many other _appointments?_"

Sasuke's eyes narrow darkly at my sarcasm, but I don't care.

"Cute," he sneers. "This is the thanks I get, for flying in early to fix your pipes for you?"

I blink, bemused. "Wait, you what?"

Then he smirks, all pleased with himself, folds his arms and leans up against the wall like we _weren't_ just fighting a few seconds ago. "Your pipes needed to be fixed. I fixed them."

"Let me get this straight. You go off half-cocked on me last night…basically accuse me of being a slut, something you _know_ I don't appreciate…then you leave Spring Training a night early to break into my apartment and fix my _shower pipes?_ Is this your way of apologizing?"

"Depends," he replies smoothly. "Is it working?"

"I'm closer to calling the police than forgiving you," I say nastily, because damn it if his words last night didn't cut _deep._ Even if I'm _thrilled_ that he fixed my awful shower, I still want to hold onto my anger, since it keeps the hurt at bay. I storm out of the bathroom and toss my coat over the edge of the sofa. "You can let yourself out," I add, flopping onto the couch with my arms folded.

But he doesn't. Not that I expected him to, since he's as stubborn as I am, and part of me (okay, a LOT of me) thrills at the way he's not about to leave in the middle of a fight. Instead, he follows me right into the living room and in a flash, he's straddling my hips, one hand splayed over my stomach the way he _knows_ I love, the other curling behind my neck.

I glare up at him, but I know there's no real poison in it, because I _love_ when he touches me like this.

He has the decency to look repentant, his dark eyes gentle as he looks at me, instead of voracious. His thin lips slope downward in a pout, of all things, and when he leans in to whisper in my ear, his messy black hair tickles my cheek.

"I'm sorry, Sakura," he tells me, words heavy with sincerity, breath warm as it fans against my skin. Unconsciously, I raise my hips to meet his, to ease some of the tension stirring between my legs the way it _always does_ around him.

And with three words, he melts my anger. Cools it into something else, transforms it into heady desire. Because he's been gone a lot, and I've only seen him for two days in the last month, and I _miss_ him. And yeah, he was a big asshole to me, but now he's apologizing, and Sasuke Uchiha has never, in his life, apologized to me, for _anything._

I can't take this lightly.

"Thank you," I tell him with a smile. I lean up and kiss him on the lips, a sweet kiss that turns serious quickly; soon, my shirt's thrown across the coffee table as Sasuke presses open-mouthed kisses down my stomach, and then the rest is history.

Thank God for soundproof walls.

…

"You really didn't know it was me?" Sasuke asks later, as we lay on my small, lumpy bed together. He traces patterns onto my stomach with lazy fingers, a smirk of amusement on his face as he recalls our reunion in the bathroom.

"No, I didn't," I giggle. "But admit it! I _so_ would've kicked your ass, eventually."

He rolls his eyes. "No way. I had you in two seconds."

Then he lifts himself up on one elbow, dark eyes full of concern. "This place isn't safe, Sakura. I broke in like it was nothing."

"If you wanted a key," I say slyly, "you could've just asked me."

"Sakura, I'm serious. If I could get in, anybody else could, too. It's not safe for a girl like you to be living alone, in this neighborhood."

My eyes flame. All post-sex sweetness is gone, long gone, as I take yet _another_ sexist blow from this mysoginistic asshole. I take care of _myself._ And I don't have much, but what I do have is _mine._ No it's not a great neighborhood, no I don't live in some penthouse high-rise the way he does across town, but I'm proud of what I have. I'm proud of being able to take care of this on my own. And here he comes, treating me like some fragile, delicate little…

"A girl like me?" I hiss. "What, Sasuke? What kind of girl am I? Weak? Stupid? _Vulnerable?_"

"Beautiful," Sasuke corrects me quietly, sincerely.

I stop in my tracks, argument dying in my throat. Sasuke takes that as his cue to continue.

"You attract attention everywhere," he says softly, brushing my bangs out of my eyes. "You're not stupid, but you _are_ small. Any guy could follow you home, break in here. I don't want to be out on the road, worrying about you all the time."

I sigh. "So what do you want me to _do,_ Sasuke? Take a bunch of steroids so I can bulk up and protect myself better?"

Then he gets this look in his eye, this smug, all-knowing look in his eye, and he kisses my forehead, then draws back to look me in the face.

"No," he says, almost _triumphant._ "But you can move in with me."

And just like that, and for the thousandth time, Sasuke Uchiha takes my breath away.

* * *

**note..** well the phillies win it in ten innings tonight, so...

get at me, y'all :) who's yo favorite team?

xoxo Daisy :)


	15. No-Decision

I don't let it show on my face (never do) but when I tell Sakura I want her to move in with me, I'm suddenly, instantly, and forcefully intimidated.

I'd been planning to ask her for awhile now and it seems most logical – I have a huge place with more than enough space and I won't be there half the time anyway, since the season starts in two days and then I'll be traveling all the time. It doesn't make sense to expect her to stay here in this tiny place with the shitty pipes and the godawful location, when I have a huge, safe, empty place just taking up space.

But even though there's logic behind it, I'm _terrified_ of her answer. Because I just laid it all on the line now. It's only after I hear the words that the logic in them seems weak.

We've only been dating for a few weeks. Somehow, I'd counted all the years I spent thinking of her and wanting her and missing her and hating myself for my inability to forget her, all as part of our relationship, but in all actuality, we've been dating, officially, for a _month._ That's not enough to consider such a huge step like this.

Moving in. A precursor to _marriage._

But I just lay there and see my apathetic expression reflected in her wide, wide eyes, my hand still splayed on her stomach as it clenches underneath my fingers. Shock. A meme of shock.

At least she's not pissed at me anymore.

"You…wait…you want me to _move in?_ With _you?_"

"This place ain't safe," I tell her, and it's true, but it's not _my_ truth. Sakura's beautiful, and she's innocent (no matter what she tells herself), and she's approachable, and she's _small._ If someone were to follow her home, I know she'd put up a fight, but there's no guarantee she'd win. It's a bad neighborhood and a cheap apartment that's easy to break into, so she shouldn't stay here if she has anywhere else to go.

A truth, but not _my_ truth.

"Is that the only reason?" she asks, her voice sounding faraway, like she's lost in thought.

"Hn?"

"Safety. Is that the only reason you want me to move in with you?"

She sees right through me. Always could. That's what made her so terrifying to me all our lives. She can't see herself _at all,_ but me? She doesn't just peek through this practiced apathy, she _demolishes_ it. She won't let me get away with _anything._ And for as much as I resent that about her, it's also one of the reasons I need her to pack up her shit and move in with me.

She's a keeper.

"The paps found out about you," I murmur evasively. "They'll figure out where you live and harass you. There's better security at my place. Won't be able to bother you there."

Another half-truth, and I watch her wide eyes narrow because she's done playing this game.

"Why do you want me to move in, Sasuke?" she asks, her tone gentle but firm, and I'm reminded of my mother. How she was always kind and patient, but there was always an underlying "Don't fuck with me" kind of demeanor that made me, well, never want to fuck with her.

She sits up in bed, propped up on her hands, and my eyes dip to the navy blue bra she's wearing and back to her face.

And for once, I tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. So help me.

"Because you matter," I murmur, avoiding her eyes. "And the time I have here in Konoha, I want to spend with you."

She throws her arms around me and kisses me and she's crying, but the good kind. She doesn't say yes outright but I make plans to help her move this weekend; she's got a lot of clothes for someone who lives on such a tight budget.

But I've got more than enough closet space.

I don't always say the right thing, but something in the way she kisses me tells me that this time, I knocked it out of the park.

* * *

Her lease is simple enough to break; there's a fee that I pay without her knowing I paid it, because I know that Sakura's uncomfortable with how easily I can throw money at a situation, when she's not in the same boat. And the weekend before the season starts, I rent a moving van and we spend the day packing up her belongings.

It's cold in Konoha but getting warmer, so it's not as unpleasant as it ought to be, moving everything. Hard, sweat-inducing work is made easier by the chill in the air. And there's the whole upside to knowing that, at the end of it all, this girl's gonna be sleeping in my bed on a more permanent basis.

"Sasuke!" she calls from the almost-empty living room, after I've loaded the third box of shoes into the back of the van. I head back inside and find that she's stripped the sofa of its cushions and she looks at me expectantly, wearing a Heat hoodie (I fucking love her) all her hair tied back in a messy ponytail.

"Help me with this?"

"Your couch?" I echo, staring at it. "I have one already, we can leave this one behind."

"Absolutely not," she says firmly. "My couch is a million times more comfortable than your couch. It comes with me."

I smirk. "You want to have two mismatched couches in our living room?" _Our. It's 'our' now. Holy shit._

"Nah, I figure this one can go in one of the empty bedrooms," she says, clearly having thought about this before. "You know. So when we inevitably fight over something you did wrong," she adds, grinning playfully at me, "I can kick you out of bed and at least you'd still have somewhere comfortable to sleep."

"You think of everything, don't you?" I say dryly, and she laughs. She's got a point, though, and even though her sofa is old and a piece of shit to look at, it _is_ way more comfortable than mine, so I grab the other end and we carry it out of her apartment, throw it in the back of the van.

She dusts off her hands on her jeans inside the van, and takes a minute to look at her belongings. Her entire _life_ is in this van, and her bright smile dims a little, like she's worried.

"Sasuke, are you sure about all this?" she asks me.

"About what."

"_This._" She gestures to the shitty couch and the boxes of her things, and looks at me in concern. "Moving in. You don't think it's too soon? Too much, or whatever? Are you gonna change your mind?"

"What're you so worried for," I mutter, taking a seat on her lumpy sofa in the back of the van, arms folded, because I don't like this kind of talk. "I'm not changing my mind."

"Just…think about what this means, for me," she urges, sitting down next to me. "This is it for me. My _whole life_ is in here and that includes you, but if this doesn't work out, I have nothing. Everything I work for," she thumbs back to her apartment, "I'm giving it all up so if you back out, I've got nowhere to go. And that's _scary._"

I grab her hand and squeeze it reassuringly. "Don't worry," I tell her. "I wouldn't have asked you if I wasn't sure."

She sighs and smiles. Apparently I'm full of 'right things to say' today.

* * *

That night, in bed, in _our_ bed, I'm exhausted. I have a _nasty_ workout planned for the next morning, what with the season starting in a couple of days, but I'm really just…content.

Because I hear Sakura humming in the kitchen as she does the dishes from dinner. Even if there's a perfectly usable dishwasher under the sink, she does it the old-fashioned way. Wash, rinse, dry. Hum the whole time.

And my swanky apartment – too big for one person – starts to feel like a home.

* * *

"Get laid last night?" Naruto asks slyly at practice.

I raise my eyebrows at him.

"You look like you got laid last night," he clarifies, digging his elbow into my ribs and risking a concussion at the same time. "That shit-eating smirk…"

"Hn." _Hell yeah. Last night. This morning. More than you, asshole._

But because some weird, backwards-ass force in the universe compelled it to be so, Naruto's my dumbass best friend, and I guess this isn't something you should hide from your best friend.

"Sakura moved in," I say casually, lacing up my cleats.

"Dude, seriously? It's only been like what, a week?"

"A month," I argue defensively. It doesn't sound much better.

"Well, I can't blame you. Quality girl like that, you've got to nail down when you can. Guess that explains why you're even more pleased with yourself than you usually are."

"Shut up, idiot."

It's the last practice before the season begins. Tomorrow. It's in all the papers, on the Internet, all over the sports news. Everyone's talking about Naruto and me. The big position switch, the risk of having two teenage rookies on a professional team. Whether Kakashi's gonna be hailed as a genius for future generations, or whether this is the biggest mistake of his career.

Like the preseason, only amplified, because this is the shit that counts. You can lose every preseason game 100 to 1, but if you show up with your shit together during the actual season, that's all that matters.

We're facing Oto. Huge rivals. Naruto isn't starting – he's good, but he's not proven the way our other pitchers are. I am. I'm nervous, something I will never, ever admit to anyone, except maybe Sakura. And I guess Naruto, since he's my best friend and junk.

Bastard's jealous. He wants the start bad. I smirk; if he'd stayed at catcher, he just might have gotten it.

It was Sakura's idea years ago to have me play catcher. And it's Sakura who's breathing new life into me, and compelling me to try harder, work harder, be better. Sakura who took an arrogant, aimless asshole with too much money and not enough responsibility, and changed him into a guy his deadgoneforever parents might just have been proud of.

Maybe.

"C'mon," I mutter to Naruto, concealing the fact that my smirk is feeling much, much closer to a smile. I pound my fist into my glove, ready to go. "Last practice before the season starts and I can't have you slowing me down."

* * *

I make it home that night tired and bruised up and just fucking glad to see her.

She's studying when I come through the door, curled up on the floor with her textbooks sprawled in front of her on the coffee table. Hair tied up, no makeup, in one of my old T-shirts and a pair of yoga pants. She looks up and sees me and I'm home.

"Hey!" she says with a smile that lights her up like a star. In a flash, she's on her feet and then in my arms, smelling like a daisy with sunshine in her eyes. "I didn't even hear you come in! How was practice? God you look exhausted…Kakashi must've slaughtered you guys today!"

I smile into her hair and let her hug me, still a little wrongfooted after so many days of seeing her brighten when she sees me. Like I can inspire that kind of happiness in someone like her. Makes no sense, but I'll chase that feeling forever.

"You smell good," she breathes; I made sure to shower before I left practice at the stadium. Poor girl shouldn't have to smell seven hours of sweat and grime. Her hands slide from my shoulders to my stomach, relighting a fire that never really goes out, before she stops with a giggle, leaning back.

"Sorry. I know you must be tired."

"Never too tired for you," I growl, pulling her forward again so I can kiss her.

Sakura kisses me slow and sweet for a minute before she dances back out of my arms. "You need to relax," she tells me sternly, unaware that nothing relaxes me more than that body of hers. "Lay down on the couch. You hungry? Oh what am I saying, you're always hungry. Here." She pushes me to the sofa and presses the remote into my hands. "I'll make you something real quick."

Isn't there a rule, about not being allowed to have everything in your life go completely _right?_

She hurries off to the kitchen to do something unreasonably nice for me, and I turn the TV on because she told me to, and I looked around the living room. It's still mostly my stuff – she's not all the way unpacked yet – but there are pieces of her everywhere. A sweater thrown across the back of the sofa. A picture of her parents resting on an endtable. A pair of tiny girls' tennis shoes kicked off by the doorway.

Little things that remind me it's not just me anymore. There's someone who wants to stick around with me even though I know I've got to suck as a boyfriend. I've had no practice with this. It's just like fucking baseball; tomorrow, they're gonna throw me into something I know I'll never be prepared for.

It's the same with Sakura. I keep waiting till the moment I fuck it up.

I know I came close the other day. I know I got drunk and yelled at her, after her asshole ex-whatever ran his mouth off to me. I know she didn't deserve it. All that, I know logically.

I feel myself frown.

Logically, it makes sense, but logic doesn't – can't – apply to Sakura.

It's unreasonable of me to have expected her to wait around for me to…to get my shit together, or whatever, when it came to her. I made her no promises before we graduated high school and after that, I acted like I never met her. Never contacted her, didn't keep up with her. To expect a girl like Sakura to read between the lines and infer that I secretly loved her and wanted her to wait, without giving her so much as a whisper to my real intent, is fucking stupid.

But.

But I still wanted her to.

I'm angry, irrationally so, that I'm not the only guy who's seen what she looks like under those clothes. It pisses me off that I wasn't her first, or second, or…I don't even know what number I am.

And Sakura…I couldn't begin to tell you what number _she_ is. There've been so many fucking girls after high school, and I can't remember a one of them. It doesn't matter, because she's the only one that's ever mattered.

And something tells me it's the same for me.

It's just not the reality I would have wanted for Sakura Haruno. She messed around with the same shit I did – sex with no attachment – and it left me feeling hollow and empty on the inside. And a girl like her should never feel that way. I know she must have.

_She's got you now,_ I remind myself. _And you've got her. Stop punishing her for what happened before. She owed you nothing._

Still. It's something I struggle with, her past, and mine.

"…and in sports news," says the announcer on TV, drawing my attention, "baseball season begins tomorrow, and it's sure to be a good year, folks. Unless you've been living under a rock lately, you've heard about local legend Sasuke Uchiha, who at 19 was signed as a _starting pitcher_ for the Konoha Heat, up until a few weeks ago, when eccentric coach Kakashi Hatake suddenly switched him with 19-year-old catcher Naruto Uzumaki! After an impressive 10-4 showing during the preseason, many who were scratching their heads at this bizarre move are eating their words."

I smirk at the TV and let my head fall back against the couch pillows. (Do I have couch pillows? Maybe she bought 'em.)

"And I believe congratulations are in order," the announcer goes on, grinning, "because sources close to Sasuke Uchiha have confirmed that an engagement _is_ on the horizon for the starting catcher and his young lady love, student Sakura Haruno!"

My jaw _drops._ _What?!_

Engagement?!

Who the _hell_ would have spilled a story like _that?_

Yeah, Sakura moved in with me and maybe that's premature by some people's standards, but I'm nowhere near ready for _engagement._ Neither is she. I know shit about being a boyfriend, let alone a husband. So what's this fucking story, then?

_Naruto,_ I think, instantly furious. I glare at the announcer and wish I could take a swing at him, and Sakura chooses that moment to flitter back into the living room with a bowl of macaroni and cheese and a plate full of vegetables balanced in her arms.

She glances at the TV, sees what's happening, and then giggles. It's fuckin Suna all over again, how totally unaffected she is by what the paps are saying about her.

"Oh yeah, you didn't hear about that?" she says, setting the food on the coffee table in front of me, and sitting down on my left. "Apparently, we're pre-engaged."

"The hell's that mean?"

"How should I know? But when you pre-buy me a pre-engagement ring, it better be pre-expensive!"

Joking around. Completely unruffled by it.

"Oh come on, Sasuke. As long as you and I and our friends know what's true, what the hell does it matter what anyone else says?"

I don't want to fight with her, but she's still just so fucking naïve.

"It doesn't matter," I say, tucking into my food.

What I don't mention, in the interest of preserving this idyllic peace between us, is the fact that she hasn't been maligned in the press yet. It's gonna happen – it's bound to happen – because a young couple like us is bound to attract attention, and even if we keep our noses clean, the tabloids still need to sell their stories, so they'll make them up.

Up till now, they've painted Sakura in a positive light. Always commenting on what a good student she is, how smart, how driven, how pretty…the sweet girl who turned playboy pitcher Sasuke into a proper boyfriend. She's the media's darling right now.

But it won't always be like that, because drama sells.

Will she handle this all so calmly and rationally if they start attacking her instead? If they dig up things about her shady past, her low-income upbringing, things she's done or hasn't done…will she be so cool about all this then?

And if she's not…

If she decides this is all too much for her...

Where does that leave me?

* * *

**note..** because sasuke wouldn't be sasuke if he wasn't drowning in insecurity.

hope you liked it. if you did, let me know. if you didn't, don't waste your breath in telling me please because really.

love you guys. hope you had a nice weekend :)

xoxo daisy :)


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